


Photographic Evidence

by misfitmusings



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternate Universe- Post Grad, F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Multi, Other, Player Laura, TW: Not a lot of death happens but it sure is mentioned, post-grad AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitmusings/pseuds/misfitmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is photographic evidence of how we used to be but that was us and now it's you and me."- That Was Us by Julia Nunes.</p><p>Mircalla Karnstein, designated black sheep of a prominent family despite being technically orphaned. Practically an enigma, and definitely not dealing well with the loss of her parents, paints under the alias Carmilla. Her art is gaining attention while she finds herself fading away.</p><p>Laura Hollis, up and coming journalist. Still lives with her college roommate and mortal frenemy after graduating even though she could very easily live on her own, especially since she's developed a proclivity for one night stands. Shes trying to get her big break after only ever getting broken.</p><p>Neither believe in fate, but it can't be a coincidence they keep meeting like this.</p><p>Also there's a bracelet involved and it may be important but it also may not be.<br/>POV changes from Carmilla to Laura every chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carmilla: Mom.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is but I can't stop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mircalla Karnstein. The sister. The myth. ~~The disappointment.~~ ~~The daughter.~~ The orphan.

Chapter One: Carmilla 

Mom.

 

You can barely hear the music anymore as he twirls you around the dance floor. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your ribs ache from laughing. You can see in his lit up face that you’re not the only one to realize how long it’s been since you’ve felt so… free. You may not have had the best relationship with Mother, it’s true he was always her favorite and you were the daughter she never quite understood. It would be petty to point out now that she never really tried to understand you either. But her William, your Will, the best thing she gave you besides your very existence. Although, there were times when it felt as if you were an accidental gift, one you sometimes imagined she would take back, one you sometimes imagined giving back.

Looking at him though, he is all of the good your Mother had in her. All of the good that passed right over you. It’s not hard to see that the two of you are twins, with the same dark brown, wavy hair and defined bone structure. You are happy to share your father’s features with him, except for his shocking blue eyes but his smile is all your Mother’s, no matter how hard it is to believe such light was once hers. It’s difficult to keep the unanticipated pain of her death hidden when he’s all of the things you wish you could still thank her for. 

He proves more a part of you than you thought when he pulls you in close, because he sees in your face what you can never say with words. Just in time, the music slows and the two of you fall easily out of the hug, his hand on the small of our back and your head against his shoulder. “Remember when she taught us how to waltz” he whispers, his chin resting on the top of your head. You learned quickly that being twins did not mean you would always be the same height. You nod into his chest, even though you know he isn’t looking for an answer, he already knows how hard it is for you to forget. You contemplate letting the tears welling up in your eyes fall freely onto his suited shoulder, to add to the few you’ve already allowed to mourn her. 

But all too soon the music halts and the tinkle of silverware on crystal joins the shuffle of dancers finding their seats, chairs being pulled for dates and conversations pausing. You let him hold your hand as he leads you back to your table. Within moment the entire banquet hall is silent, all eyes locked on the stage where the band was just playing, your sister stands there grabbing the attention of the room as only she can. Her dress elegant, her makeup perfect, her dark hair in an intricately braided bun at the nape of her neck, her brown eyes sparkling with what most would assume was mischief. “Well, darlings” she smiles with a warmth you are sure she saves for public appearances. “I want to thank you all for attending the 3rd annual Silas Governor’s ball, in memory of the 45th Dean of Students, and my dearly departed mother, Lilita Morgan.” The ballroom applauds appropriately as Mattie’s smile fades from broad and welcoming to vaguely sorrowful. “It’s hard to believe it’s been 3 years since her sudden passing, I know I’m not alone in saying that the lack of her presence is still deeply felt on the Silas campus.” 

Mattie moves toward the framed photo displayed at the side of the stage. You recognize it for the first time that night as the last photo you ever took as a family, no less than 8 years ago. You’re seated in front as usual, Mother always insisted that you show off your “Morgan features.” Mattie is on your left side, her arm draped lovingly across your shoulders, and Mother is on your right, her hand covering yours nervously placed on your lap. Will stands behind you, one hand on Mattie’s arm, the other on Mother’s shoulder. Your older brother Klaus stands behind Mattie, in full military uniform, proud as ever. Standing behind your mother and holding her hand, his other arm around Will’s shoulders, your father smiles the widest. You’re all smiling, really smiling, and you can’t help but wonder how something as simple as time brought you from there to here.

“I am fortunate, however, to share her legacy with my fabulous siblings. Mircalla? William?” Your trance is broken by Will lifting you to stand by your elbow, whispering through his wide grin for you to “smile”. You manage what would more likely be considered a grimace as Mattie carries on with her speech. “If there is one thing that our Mother instilled in us, and believe me there were many, it’s the importance of family.” You’re doing the best you can not to roll your eyes considering all of Silas and half of Styria are staring at you expectantly, so you attempt another smile instead. Possibly more convincing than the last but not by much. “I know that Mother felt as though Silas was a family, one she cherished and our family continues to cherish in her absence. With that in mind, I am ever so honored and humbly pleased to announce my acceptance into the Board of Governors.” The crowd applauds again, appropriately, and you put your hands together in a clapping motion when Will elbows you in the side. 

Your sister is swarmed by guests desperate to share their congratulations and unsolicited advice and you see a perfect window to make your exit undetected. Except you forget Will is right behind you. “Whoa there, Kitty. The clock hasn’t even struck 12 yet, your pumpkin is still a carriage for a little while longer.” You know your brother well enough to know that this is his way of telling you he misses you, not that he has any issue saying so, but as previously mentioned, he knows you too well. You press a kiss into his stubbly cheek, apparently freshly shaved is no longer in style, and admire the red ghost of your lips it leaves behind. “I don’t know how comfortable glass slippers would be, but these,” you point to the 5 inch heels on your feet “are no walk in the park, baby brother.” You see the furrow in his brow at the ‘baby brother’ comment and see the retort forming on his lips. “There’s a freezer pizza, a pair of sweatpants, and a box set of National Geographic specials waiting at my apartment. You are welcome to join.” 

He gives you a sad smile as he shakes his head. “Can’t leave, I’m Mattie’s ride.” You nod, giving him a small smile back just as Mattie’s voice travels over the crowd toward you. “William!” He pulls you into a bear hug and presses a kiss into your hairline. “Duty calls, don’t pretend you don’t wish you had just joined the family biz too.” You chuckle into his chest, trying and failing to shake your head under his vice grip on your upper body. “I miss you” he whispers “And even if she won’t admit it, she does too.” He finally lets you go, and you take the opportunity to reach up to ruffle is perfectly combed hair. “I’ll see you soon” you say. “Promise?” He asks, just like when you were kids. You take a deep breath and straighten his tie, “I promise, now get going before Mattie sends a search party.” He gives your hand one last squeeze as he turns toward your sister. She’s watching you both and rolls her eyes as you wiggle your fingers at her in a mock wave. You are at least comforted tonight by the feeling that some things never actually change. 

You make it halfway to the valet before your shoes come off, it’s been exactly a year since you wore heels like these and you are not very upset that they are no longer part of your everyday wardrobe. The night is still young so you are one of very few stragglers in the banquet halls grand foyer. Most of them appearing to have escaped the ballroom to have a quiet conversation so they don’t acknowledge you, shoe-less and all, and you are free to wander through memories on your way to the exit. You keep spinning the rose gold bracelet on your wrist out of habit until the etching catches the light. You stop to unclasp it, running your finger over the simple script as you walk through the large front doorway. “To my daughter, Mircalla. With Love, Maman.”

You hand your ticket to the cute brunette valet at the stand and watch her toss your keys with ease to a guy who seriously resembles a human German Sheppard puppy on steroids. You find something very familiar about him and then realize as he sprints to retrieve your car, whistling at “hotties” that he is Will’s friend Wilson from that barbaric fraternity. The Zapas? No, that’s just a punk band you’d want to be a part of. You shove your shoes into your purse and tuck a folded up bill in the brunettes front vest pocket. She smiles at you and something in her eyes stops the famous Karnstein smirk in its tracks, you smile genuinely back at her and watch her blush and look away. You consider asking for her number when your car pulls up and instead you jump in, happy to escape the past at least for tonight. You don’t notice your bracelet falling onto the pavement.


	2. Laura: Obligation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's got issues. Laura Hollis is just a little better at hiding hers. Sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone said bring it on, so I'm bringing it? I think?

Chapter Two: Laura

Obligation.

It feels like Kirsch has just handed you the last set of keys to hang when guests slowly start trickling out of the banquet hall instead of in. You guess dinner must have just concluded as most of the early-nighters appear to be older faculty, including a group of gentlemen escorted out by security for having had one too many pre-dinner cocktails (not to worry you called them a cab) and then a few professors grumbling in various accents about how the “reign of Morgan” continues. Whatever that means. 

You and Kirsch have a pretty good system worked out by now though and everything seems to be running smoothly. Earlier it was ticket, car, keys and now it’s just ticket, keys, car. The monotony of it is actually kind of calming. At first you were, to put it kindly, disappointed when your boss Mr. Vordenberg of THE Vordenberg Press explained that your “special assignment” was manning the valet stand at the annual Silas Governor’s Ball instead of writing a story about it. But finding out your good friend Kirsch had picked up a “sweet gig parking fancy cars” too made things quite a bit more fun. You make Kirsch do all of the parking because it isn’t exactly a secret that driving is not your forte, and most of these cars are worth more than you’ll make in your life. 

You have to admit, being back at Silas is nice, even if you are just parking cars, or better yet telling Kirsch where to park cars. After your internship, your big breakup with Danny, and starting your new job as an official writer for The Press you haven’t had much time to come back and visit since you graduated 2 years ago. Everything is pretty much the same, an odd mix of eerie and interesting. It may have been 2 years but the atmosphere is just as addicting to you now as it always was. There’s something about this campus that brings out of you this thirst for danger. Maybe it’s the journalist in you after all, and just not an overwhelming, subconscious desire to self-destruct. 

Kirsch is jogging back to you, his obnoxiously long, light brown hair falling into his eyes, his sleeves rolled up, his tie crooked. Even with him looking disheveled and with you being very, very gay, you can't deny he's a good looking 'dude'. There was a time when you never would have dreamed of befriending a macho Zeta like Wilson Kirsch but over the past couple years he’s become something of an annoying “big” brother. “Laura, dude, are you sure it’s okay if I ask Danny to the Zeta bash?” He pants as he grabs a water from behind the valet stand only to empty the full bottle in one gulp. He’s been asking you all night and it doesn’t matter how many times you tell him to stop asking you and start asking Danny, he keeps bringing it back up. “Kirsch, ask Danny to the bash. We broke up a year ago. I’ve moved on, she’s moved on. If you want to ask her, just ask her.” You’re running your hands through your hair in frustration, for probably the millionth time tonight, when you feel giant arms lifting you 2 feet off the ground.

“Laura, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this but you are like the best little nerd hottie bro I have ever had. Not that I’ve had other nerd hottie bros, because like you’re the only one, obviously. And not saying that LaFontaine isn’t a hottie or my bro but they’re like non-binary or whatever so they always pinch me when I call them a hottie even though like hottie doesn’t have a gender either.” You use all of your strength to breathe in since Kirsch is too preoccupied rambling to realize he is crushing your rib cage. “Great, Kirsch, thank you. Now put me down!” Kirsch quickly drops you with an audible “oops” and a whispered “sorry little bro” while you rub the bruises that are definitely forming on your upper arms. “How are you so sure she’s even going to say yes? You are pretty much the opposite of her type.” You didn’t really mean to ask that, it just kind of slipped out. Word vomit is not alien to you and for a second you wonder if a small part of you is jealous, and then you remember why you and Danny broke up, and you wonder no more. 

“I’m not sure she’s gonna say yes at all” Kirsch says while taking a bite of a mini sandwich he stole from ‘The Party’. In your head you’ve been calling it ‘The Party’ because it makes you feel rebellious and alternative. You’re parking cars for Pete’s sake! “It’s the asking that’s the fun part” He says before he takes a break to chew and swallow. You raise your eyebrows at him as he devours another sandwich in one bite before adding, “if she says yes then that’s just a bonus.” It doesn’t happen very often, and yet still more often than you would like, but sometimes you really wish you could be more like Kirsch. There's a carefree energy about him that you would kill for.

You shake your head at him and walk behind the stand, running your hand along the shelf to find your phone. You have 3 texts from LaFontaine, 1 text from your roommate Betty and 2 texts from Danny. LaFontaine is filling you in on an experiment they’ve been working on, something about brain function in coma patients. How fascinating. You’re equally tempted and afraid to ask where they got the coma patients. Last time you checked they were not cleared for human trials in any of their experiment, let alone ones having to do with real, live brains. Being LaFontaine’s best friend regularly includes not asking too many questions, which you can handle in exchange for all the the support they've given you in the past year. Betty is reminding you to take the garbage out, but it’s phrased more in the fashion of “GARBAGE. DAY. TMO. FREAK.” You add freak to the growing list of non-offensive but still annoying names Betty chooses to bestow upon you. 

You’re holding your finger over Danny’s messages for a moment. You two are finally back to being friends again but seeing her name pop up on your phone still makes you a little sick. It’s been a year and yet somehow it’s not even the fact that she cheated on you that makes you upset, although it definitely used to be, it’s that she would hurt LaFontaine like that. It would probably say something about your sense of self worth if it didn't also make you upset that Perry would hurt you like that. That Perry would hurt anyone in any way, especially Lafontaine. The two people in the world you thought would never hurt you, did. It's almost the theme to your life at this point. Just thinking about it is making your head hurt, and your heart you guess if you even still have one of those, so you put decide to your phone away. Whatever Danny needs can wait. 

Just in time in fact because Mr. Vordenberg strolls out of the main doors and right up to you. “Fraulein Hollis” he purrs “You are doing an amazing job this evening. I wondered, briefly, whether you would handle this task with the same efficiency you display in your writing. You have not disappointed. I may not be pleased with all of the events of the evening but you have definitely exceeded expectations.” He rests his hand on your shoulder and it takes a solid effort on your part not to flinch away and run to a shower. There’s just something about him that makes you, and almost everyone else, very uncomfortable. “Thank you so much, sir. This has been a great opportunity.” You say as Kirsch walks up behind him from his car, fake gagging. He smiles at you, and you are duly unsettled by it. “Ms. Hollis, I would very much appreciate it if you would attend a meeting in my office Monday morning. I have another task, one that involves writing I assure you, that I believe you to be well suited for." You start to thank him again when he cuts you off with a hand wave, creepy smile still in place. "8 am, Ms. Hollis. Don’t be late.” And with that he gets in to his car and drives off. You hope that you’re not visibly sweating.

A few more people come and go but mostly you and Kirsch are left to entertain yourselves. After a thrilling game of “I-Spy” that you definitely won because for some reason Kirsch kept picking trees, you decide to sit behind the stand to check the messages from Danny. The first message makes you let out a sigh of relief, you weren’t even aware you were holding your breath in the first place, and is just a rant about Summer Society drama. Danny is currently battling her ex-BFF Mel for the open spot on the Summer Society alumni board and it seems as if things are turning pretty ugly already. All is fair in love and war, right? The second text is wildly different and makes you groan aloud as you let your head fall back against the stand frustration. “What’s the deal, huffy hottie?” Kirsch materializes behind you, leaning over the stand, more mini sandwiches in hand. “Oh, it’s nothing, just new job stuff” you lie as you delete the second message, watching the words “I miss us, Laura” fade into non-existence. “Vorden-creep needs to give you a break” Kirsch says with a mouth full of sandwich as he helps you up from the ground. You nod seriously before you lunge at his other hand, grabbing a sandwich and giving him what you hope looks like a sincere smile. All is fair in love and war. Right?

Kirsch is off getting a car for a particularly handsy couple when you catch sight of her, feet first as you happen to be looking down in an attempt to ignore the exhibitionists leaning against the stand. The weirdest thing about her, you think, is not the fact that she is both barefoot and in the most gorgeous dress you have seen this evening, but that you can’t remember her coming in. You like to think you have a pretty good recall, faces always seem to stick with you, but you can’t place her in your entire memory of the past 4 hours. Yet there is something about her that is too familiar for you to ignore. Maybe it's the hair, or the obvious air of confidence? Maybe you took her home from the bar? No, you would remember a girl like that, or at least you hope you would. You’re trying not to stare too blatantly as you flip through your mental archives of faces and still come up with nothing. 

She gets your attention by slipping what definitely couldn’t be a folded $50 bill into your front pocket and you can’t help but smile at the almost-cocky grin on her face. You don’t regret it either because her entire face changes and she’s smiling at you like you hung the moon shining above you both. That smile, you would remember that smile, you're sure of it. She's not really your type, with her dark eyes and darker hair, but she could be. You’re about to ask her for her name, or her number, or if she wants to sleep at your place tonight when Kirsch pulls up with her car and in the blink of an eye she’s gone. She didn't even leave one of her shoes behind. So much for fairy tales. 

You don’t see it until Kirsch insists you wait at the stand while he gets his car to drive you home at the end of the night, he’s taking his time it seems and you’re watching the wind make the fallen leaves flutter against the curb. You don’t really know what you’re seeing when a leaf moves and, from under it, something shiny catches the light. You stoop to take a closer look and discover a very simple, but still very beautiful, rose gold bracelet. Maybe there's something to those fairy tales after all. 

You pick it up and inspect it further before reading the small inscription. Without warning your chest tenses like an icy hand has a death-grip your heart and your lungs feel so frozen you can barely breathe. Kirsch pulls up and honks as you pocket the bracelet and try to cover up the 50 shades of fucked up that must be written all over your face. You don’t hear a word Kirsch says the entire way home, you can’t help but spend the whole drive wondering if this Mircalla knows what she’s missing. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have something like this to miss. You find yourself still staring at it as you lay in bed, your chest still made of ice, your mind racing to thoughts you were pretty sure you had already buried. Eventually, you fall asleep with it held tightly in your palm.


	3. Carmilla: The Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in a name? Awkward Mircalla is awkward. Awkward Mircalla has more friends and cares for more people than she is willing to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward, fumbling, its-been-a-while, Carmilla is probably my favourite thing. Ever. She's not totally depressing ALL the time.
> 
> P.S. I don't really have a posting sched because I work full time and my hours are mucho crazy but I'm aiming for 2 updates a week. Hopefully. No promises.

Chapter Three: Carmilla

The Name.

You haven’t slept since you got home from the gallery last night, the latest exhibition even more successful than the last, and you aren’t even tired yet. It’s a running family joke that you have never needed an alarm clock, or you guess it used to be a family joke unless you consider your ragtag group of siblings a family. You haven’t really decided if you do yet. The joke is only funny in it’s irony. You don’t sleep like everyone else, you’re usually wide awake at 3 am and fast asleep by noon. Somehow your body never quite grasped the concept of night and day. It’s 5 am now and you’re sitting out on the patio of your apartment, pencil in hand, sketching the street below you before the sun rises and makes it look like anything more than the pretense of luxury that it really is. You like to sketch either hours before the sun rise or minutes before it sets. You feel like you are robbing the world of it’s ability to conceal everything considered unfavorable in the daylight. 

A lot of people know you paint, granted a majority of them don’t know what you paint or where your paintings go, but very few people know that your real passion is drawing, sketching to be exact. To most people there’s not a large difference between drawing and painting, especially for those who draw first and then paint over it, but to you they are completely different energies. When you paint you become Carmilla, daring, vibrant, confident, unashamed, and a little mysterious. Your canvas becomes an outlet for all of the things you haven’t been able to do or say in a life ruled by appearances and family legacies. Carmilla is out and proud, Carmilla is outgoing and flirtatious, Carmilla is excited by spontaneity and chaos. Carmilla’s paintings are full of colour and outrage, they are honest as often as they are deceiving. Carmilla’s paintings say what they mean and mean what they say.

Sketching is so much simpler to you. When you sketch you are only creating the skeleton of a story, only facts and no flair. The subtle crumpling of a mask you have worn all your life. Your sketches are never more than graphite lines on thick white paper, they are never made for anyone else’s eyes. You know that your story is not uninteresting but in the rough, imperfect lines of your sketchbook there is a truth about yourself that you can’t imagine sharing with anyone. A truth you couldn’t share with your siblings, with the few friends you have made and retained. If you had a therapist, you don’t even think you would share it with them. Now that you think about it you should probably get a therapist.

You are almost done with your sketch when you realize you should have already left for the gallery. Part of being an anonymous artist, an enigma if you will, means getting to the gallery hours before it opens its doors to deliver and pose new pieces. Despite all the rushing and the sneaking around, which you have never been very skilled at, this anonymity thing appears to be really working out for you. People in the art world are developing an interest in Carmilla alarmingly fast, to no greater surprise than your own. When Lola called to inform you that the first Carmilla piece had sold, for above asking, you nearly fainted in the pet food aisle of the grocery store.

Being anonymous also meant that for once in your life no one was dragging you into the spotlight, either to stand in their shadow or to cower alone in your insecurity. There were no photo ops, no questions about your inspiration for each piece or what political stance you have. No one asking if you’ll ever end up using that degree earned in Biochemistry or if your Mother would be proud. You try very hard not to think about the latter, Mother always did love your art but that was when you were painting portraits and landscapes not nude female torsos painted against pop culture iconography in technicolor. 

Last night, as with every other exhibition previously, no one knew your face or your name or even that it was your art hanging on the gallery’s stark white walls. Honestly, an anagram is not that creative by any stretch but that’s what makes it so ingenious. You would love to take the credit for this obvious mastery of language but it was totally Lola’s idea. Carmilla isn’t a common name to begin with let alone Mircalla and besides in what world would Mircalla Karnstein, shy, awkward, boring daughter of one of Styria’s richest families ever make art for a living. So you got to wander the gallery and listen to honest critiques of your work, see honest reactions to pieces that still catch you off guard. It’s amazing how many people just get what’s going on in your paintings but it’s equally amazing how many don’t but still like them anyway. 

You’re pulling into the gallery’s parking lot twenty minutes late, still 2 hours before anyone is even supposed to be there, and Lola is already standing at the back door waiting for you. “You’re late” she states as you walk up to the door, covered canvas in hand. She says it flatly but you can tell she tried very hard to not let it sound shrill. “Relax, Gingersnap. It’s only twenty minutes” you say, giving her upper arm a squeeze that you know she won’t appreciate. Lola has her wildly curly red hair up in a messy bun today, you try to remember the last time she wore it down and then realize it had to have been before "The Separation." You would never say it to her face but she may have stopped trying after that, not that you have any right to judge since you're still in last nights teenage grunge outfit. 

You’re walking ahead of her into the offices and you can hear her taking slow, deep breaths behind you. Ever since things went south between her and the Nutty Professor, Lola has managed to wind herself even tighter, something you didn’t even think was possible. You pass her into the main gallery to swap out the recently purchased piece for the brand new one you brought with you, and by brand new you mean the paint is barely dry. It’s common for sold pieces to stay on the gallery walls until the exhibition is over but you really weren’t that big of a fan of this particular piece anyway. 

Lola is flitting around the gallery, dusting and shifting pieces to her liking, sometimes readjusting a piece three or four times before she moves on. You want to comment on the fact that she’s even more of a perfectionist than you but you stop yourself, sometimes you forget that this exhibition is all Lola has going for her at the moment as well. Instead, you choose to sit cross legged in the middle of the gallery and watch her work, hypnotized by the rhythms and patterns in her movements. Who needs a therapist when you can watch Lola organize? When she is finally satisfied, for now at least, she turns to you with her hands rested firmly on her hips. “How is it?” she asks and even in her irritating confidence you can’t help but notice the hint of uncertainty in her voice. 

Instead of answering you want to ask her how she is instead. Lola always taking care of everything, always keeping things in line, keeping you in line. You know she’s overcompensating for whatever happened between her and the lab rat but even though she’s the closest thing you have to a best friend, besides Will of course, you’ve never really asked. You came into the picture towards the end of that relationship, you only ever met Dr. Frankenstein once, so you decide that now is not a good time to test the friendship lines “It looks great” you respond as you push yourself up off the floor, swiping the dust off your black jeans. “It always looks great.” Lola nods in the way that makes her look like a robot with a spring neck and she scurries back to the office, probably to wipe down a desk or something. 

You would have no problem hanging out in the gallery for the rest of the day, watching Lola tidy and making snide remarks about her wardrobe made up almost entirely of turtleneck sweaters, but it’s almost 7 am and you could use some coffee and probably a bagel. You ask Lola if she wants anything even though you know she always asks for a plain croissant and caramel latte (decaf, lactose free) and sneak out of the gallery’s side entrance to get out onto the busy street. Even if you didn’t have an in at this gallery (Lola) you still would have picked it if only because your favourite coffee shop is just around the corner. 

There’s a decent line up and you fiddle with your phone while you wait for your turn to order. You’re currently battling Will in an emoji show down for the record books and ignoring all messages from Mattie when someone clears their throat in front of you. “And what will it be today, your royal snarkiness?” Theo is smiling at you despite the apathetic tone he just used. You can’t overlook his sense of style, even if you really want to. Today he’s donned a pale blue collared shirt with a green bow tie, short sleeves of course, he doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, and grey, black and blue plaid slacks.

At first glance he is definitely more country club than frat house but you know better. Although the Straka’s and Morgan’s have been friends for centuries you only really got to know Theo through Will’s involvement with Silas’ only fraternity. You roll your eyes and give him your order, even as he’s practically reciting it to you. The two of you put on quite a show usually, always exchanging insults and back handed compliments (there is a difference) but you really appreciate how Theo was there for Will when you couldn’t be. It’s comforting to know that even in your failings, your many, many failings, Will had someone there in his corner. That’s pretty much the only reason you don’t just jump the bar and strangle him when he mentions volunteering you for the Silas alumni silent date auction. 

“Listen, Morticia Addams, this is your chance to meet your prince or princess of snark! Plus, even someone visually impaired could see how badly you need to get laid.” You grab the coffee from his outstretched hand and take a deep breath. “Firstly, I don’t need to get laid, thanks. And secondly, you know there are no princes in my nightmare of a fairy tale.” Theo laughs as you gather the rest of your breakfast goods and winks and blows you a kiss as you walk out the door. You’re taking only the second sip of your coffee as you round the corner to the gallery and slam right into someone else.

Your coffee lid flies off and the front of your shirt is quickly and thoroughly soaked in lava hot coffee. You let out a quiet but forceful “Shit” as you actually start to feel the heat on your abdomen. You would love to freak out and pry the molten fabric from your torso but you realize just in time that your other hand still has a full, steaming cup in it. In her defense, the girl you bumped into seems to be pretty sympathetic, she’s already rambling off apologies and offering to hold the other cup. It takes you a moment to really look at her, boiling liquid covering your person is a little distracting, and you are thoroughly surprised to see a face you recognize. 

The valet girl from Friday night murmurs an audible “Oh” which confirms that she recognizes you too. She looks different today, her hair is curled over her shoulders and looking much lighter in the daylight. She also happens to be dressed in what is obviously a pant suit, her makeup very office chic. Your gaydar flares for a moment before you chastise yourself for thinking she’s gay just for wearing pants. Not very feminist of you. You’re probably, very obviously staring at her when you just manage to catch her asking if you’re ok. You shake your head to snap out of it in a way you hope also looks like a nod. “I’m fine, I do this all the time” you blurt out, “what about you?” 

She looks at you like she’s starting to wonder if hot coffee burns cause brain damage and you can’t tell what feels hotter your cheeks or your stomach when you ask “Is this what you do when you’re not being a valet, bump into unsuspecting coffee drinkers?” She cracks a smile and you allow yourself to breath. What kind of stupid line is that? “Only on Tuesdays” she replies giving you a wink. You nod because what else are you going to do she just winked at you, and you start to peel your damp and still hot tee shirt away from your body. 

“I really am sorry” she says “let me buy you another coffee.” You’re not sure if it’s the embarrassment of being covered in peppermint mocha or the realization that you are having an actual conversation with one of the most beautiful women you have met in this town but very suddenly you feel the overwhelming urge to flee. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” You assure her “I wear black for a reason and I kind of need to get going,” you raise the bag with you and Lola’s breakfasts “someone’s already waiting for this.” She smiles like she understands and you can already tell the difference between this smile and the smile she gave you earlier and Friday night. 

“Watch your step” you say to her instead of goodbye as you turn in the direction of the gallery. You make it about 3 steps before you hear her call out to you. “My name is Laura, what’s yours?” Your brain is scrambling, do you give her your very obvious first name? That always leads to prejudice based on your background. You can’t go with Carmilla because that’s supposed to be a secret. You don’t realize you’re answering with “Kitty” until the words have already left your tongue and reached her ears causing her to raise her eyebrows in surprise. 

You managed a swift turn and hastily made your escape. You are bursting through the gallery front doors on a war path to the office. Lola is standing behind her desk in the office when you enter and push the bag full of food and the surviving cup of coffee into her hands before you fall face first onto the leather sofa. Lola is obviously caught off guard as it takes her a moment before she asks “What on earth is wrong with you and why is your shirt wet?” What on earth is wrong with you, indeed.


	4. Laura: Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura has a problem, well a few problems. Laura is very good making more problems for herself. Secrets don't make friends, neither does spilling drinks on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep telling me what you think of this, I'm just running blind with it for now so I appreciate opinions.

Chapter Four: Laura

Friends

 

It is astoundingly likely that you drink too much. You feel more hungover than you should be and you’re seriously confused about the current time since your room is totally a lot brighter than it usually is in the morning. You eventually manage to open your eyes fully and notice you can actually see out of your window. That’s new. Who opened the curtains? You think about checking the time but it’s fleeting so you go to bury your face back into your pillow from whence it came and your arm brushes against something that is definitely _not_ your bedding. You are not a morning person and it is much too bright and cheerful for your dehydrated, probably still drunk self but you grab the offending object anyway and bring it to your face. 

It’s a note. From someone named Haley? You had forgotten that celebrating your first official assignment last night had turned into a competition with Kirsch to see who could leave the bar with the most numbers. You’re reading the note, ‘Had a great time. Yadda, yadda. Call me. Blah, blah’ but mostly you’re thinking about texting Kirsch to tell him that it looks as if you won. You pick up your phone to text him when you catch sight of the time, its 7 am. Well, crap. It’s your first day with your first big story and you are going to be late. You stumble out of bed sticking the note into the drawer of your bedside table with the rest of the notes (and one rose gold bracelet), wow that makes you sound terrible, and make a beeline for the shower. Thanking whatever god blessed you with your own bathroom. 

Due to some unforeseen miracle you are able to shower, curl your hair and put on makeup in 15 minutes. You did spend another 15 picking out your outfit for the day, you chose the pant suit your dad bought you for your first interview with The Press, but the point is you look professional and not at all dying of a hangover. You’re scrambling to gather up your purse and laptop and keys, you always forget the keys, when you find Betty sitting at the island in the kitchen giving you what one would not be mistaken in calling a death glare. 

“Your latest guest ate my cereal” she deadpans, still staring you down while you struggle into your shoes. You finally get them both on your feet and unlock the door. “I’ll buy you a new box.” You say as you open the door to leave, turning back to see the still very present look of doom. “Catch you later, roomie!” you say as you run out the door and hear Betty call out “tramp” at no specific volume behind you. You don’t bother with the elevator and rush down the stairs and out the back door of your building. The two of you chose this building mostly because rent was cheap but also because of how close it is to The Press. It’s a good 10 minute walk on a slow day and today you are anything but slow. 

You’re halfway there when your stomach growls and you realize that you are not going to last 5 minutes in this morning’s meeting without consuming either food, coffee or both first. You remember that when you moved in to this neighbourhood Kirsch’s friend Theo had mentioned that he was a barista at a small coffee house around the corner from The Press. You don’t really remember the name though, you have a feeling alcohol was present when he told you, so you pull out your phone to find it online. MyStyria sounds vaguely familiar and definitely like a place where Theo would be employed so you pull up the address and make your way over with nothing but caffeine and baked goods on your mind. 

You’re still on your phone which means you realize much too late that you are about to walk into someone else on the sidewalk and instead of veering away you can’t help but slam right into her. You hear it before you see it, the sound of both the coffee and the cup hitting the pavement. You don’t see her face as the first thing you notice is that she is standing in place, her arms held up, another cup and a paper bag in one hand with the other shaped as if she was still holding the cup that has spilled all over herself and the ground. The only thing distinguishing her from an unfortunate mannequin is the almost whispered “Shit” that you barely hear over the ringing of embarrassment in your ears. 

You’re spitting out apologies when you look up and finally take in her face. As luck would have it you happen to have spilled a piping hot beverage all over the gorgeous woman from the Governor’s Ball. At first you are thrilled to see her again, of all the beautiful Styrians you ran into her. To yourself, or maybe that was out loud, it hits you. “Oh” you _RAN into her_ and knocked a drink all over her and if that isn’t a good reason _NOT_ to give you her number than you don’t know what is. She’s still in shocked statue stance and you can’t help give her a once over, this is the first time you’ve seen her in the daylight after all. 

Her dark hair is up in a ponytail, her bangs falling just a bit too far into her eyes. She’s wearing a tight fitting black v-neck, that is definitely soaked with coffee, and ripped dark grey jeans. She has a blue flannel button down tied around her waist and black combat boots on her feet which means she is probably not as tall as she seems. You see what looks like a tattoo peeking out from under her shirt on her left collarbone. She still hasn’t moved and you’re starting to feel like a creep so you ask her if she’s okay and then she’s saying something and… wait is she _flirting_ with you? She is definitely flirting with you and then you’re flirting back. 

You know that you’re already late but now all you want to do is sit in this weird coffee shop and get to know her, but after you offer to buy her a new coffee she is rushing off and you almost forget to ask her name. Kitty. It must be short for something. Katherine, maybe? You can’t help but wonder if that extra coffee is for her girlfriend, or boyfriend, just because she was flirting with you does not mean she’s gay. You know it’s ridiculous but you actually feel jealous at the thought. You don’t even know her. 

Thankfully there is no line to order and you are in and out with a large coffee in hand, black, in under 5 minutes. You even manage to slip into your seat in the boardroom by 7:55. How you make it through the 4 hours of meetings is a mystery to everyone. The caffeine definitely helped but your head is still throbbing, partly due to the lingering hangover but mostly due to listening to Mr. Vordenberg drone on all morning, mostly about himself and his accomplishments. You don’t really understand how such a brilliant, successful, inspiring man can be so thoroughly irritating. But, he’s your boss and the only person willing to give you a chance to do what you always wanted to do so you suck it up and focus on your story. 

Your story. It’s your first official day which means it’s time to start the research. You know where you have to start, even if it’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do in the past few months. Thinking about what you’re about to do comes very close to causing you actual physical pain but you’ve decided that the past is the past and you can’t pass up an opportunity like this, even if you got there by trying to think of any other alternative. You’re a professional, or at least you want to be seen like one, and letting your personal drama interfere with your talent as a journalist is something you never would have even considered a year ago. A lot of things can change in a year, you learned that the hard way. You considered stopping for lunch first but you know that it would just be putting off the inevitable, you’re almost as good at writing as you are at procrastinating. You know where you’re going this time so you only pull out your phone when you get a text from Laf. 

> Laf: Hey Lois Lane, not 2 famous 2 get lunch with ur bff yet?

Lafontaine texts like they still have a flip phone. You can’t tell Lafontaine where you are going or what you are about to do. You’re not really sure if they’d understand that you have no choice. It’s just work. Maybe they would understand but you don’t know what it would do to them emotionally. You don’t lie to Laf, the two of you made a pact a year ago to never keep secrets from each other, but is it really lying if you’re just omitting details? If it isn’t, it sure feels like it is. You care more about them than you do yourself and you have to convince yourself that not telling them is protecting their feelings from unnecessary upheaval.

> Me: Hi Doc, sorry BFF but I have a lot of desk work today. Gonna order in. Meet @ the bar later?  
> 

You are convinced they know you’re lying, even before you hit send.

> LaF: Boo. Ya def! L8er g8ter.

You let out a breath that you definitely knew you were holding and keep walking past the familiar store fronts. You can’t stop thinking about how, if they found, you don’t know if they would ever forgive you. If not for what you’re going to do than for not telling them about it. You don’t think you would forgive you either. Lafontaine is the best, good thing you have in your life, the good things being your job, your apartment, your dad, and surprisingly, Kirsch. Your past would say you’re very skilled at losing the good things, you would argue that the good things are very good at leaving you. You can’t help but think that maybe this is what’s going to make more good things leave. You won’t be surprised, it hurts less when they do if you don’t expect them stay.

You’re finally at your destination, stopped in front of the doors. You can’t even see the sign above them due to all of the memories coursing through your mind. This place used to mean so much to you, so much good and happiness. Every moment feeling so sweet you could practically taste it and now you can barely breathe, they taste so bitter. The little voice in your head reminds you that it isn’t the memories that are bitter but you so you snap out of it and open the door. 

The tinkling bell is new, you think, as you walk into the reception area. The walls have changed colour, as well as the furniture and decor but the antique hardwood floors and reception desk are the same. It still smells like fresh canvas and commercial wood cleaner. You’re trying not to pace the room but you can’t seem to stay still so you give everything a once over, playing your own sad game of spot the difference. The double doors to the gallery are open, which is odd because it isn’t quite showing time yet, but that doesn’t stop you from moving towards them to peek inside. 

That’s all it takes to remind you why you are here. The walls holding paintings like you’ve never seen before. Before you even got this assignment you had heard about this artist. Danny had shown you a photo but it honestly did not come close to the feeling of seeing the real thing. You can’t tell if it’s the colours or the apparent sloppiness yet definite precision of it all but it almost puts you in a trance. From one piece to the next you are seeing this story unfold. You feel a connection to them all but at the same time they make you feel totally misunderstood. 

When Vordenberg told you about this assignment you barely let him finish speaking before agreeing to it. You would’ve taken any topic he gave you but getting to write a story about the artist Carmilla, who you are determined to find the real identity of, was like your birthday and Christmas at the same time. You love a good challenge, and while you have a tumultuous relationship with artists and the art world itself, getting to go to exhibits and be made to feel something would be a welcome change to your new normal. You already have a theory about who Carmilla really is but you know better than to only rely on a hunch, you need proof.

You are so lost in the paintings and your own thoughts that you almost forget why you’re here and don’t hear the “I’ll be out in a second” called from the back offices. The sound of the door opening behind you brings you crashing back to reality as you turn to see her stopped in the doorway. She doesn’t look like the Perry you knew anymore. This woman was thinner, plainer, more tired looking. If you didn’t know you would think she was more than a year older than you, always had an aura about her that screamed maturity. Even more so now that she wasn’t wearing anything with kittens stitched on the front, her lawless curls tamed, looking at you like she’s seen a ghost. You can’t deny it hurts to see her like this.

“Laura?” She practically whispers your name as if saying it any louder would make you disappear before her eyes. Her face is full of emotion, you just can’t tell which ones and whether or not they are mirrored on your face. You take a deep breath and remind yourself of what’s on the line, why you’re here, even if all you can remember is why you left that last time 11 months ago. You know this place, you know her, you know what you have to do.

“Hey, Perry.” Time doesn’t stop, the world doesn’t end, you don’t feel a disturbance in the force, you’re just looking to talk to an old friend. You don’t know for sure now, just sense and inkling of it, but you will. Everything is going to change again, and soon. Everything has consequences.


	5. Carmilla: Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone ever see what's right under their noses? Mircalla thought she did. Spoiler: She was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, 40 hour work weeks and midterms don't always get along. This chapter is inspired by three amazing songs:  
> Winter by Daughter  
> All The Same by Julia Nunes  
> Burning House by Cam
> 
> Themes are fun.

Chapter Five: Carmilla

Flames.

 

_You see them before you feel them, flames licking up your body, slowly surrounding you in light and heat. You’re starting to panic now, looking every which way for an exit before you realize there is no escape. You’re trapped as the fire blazes around you, causing the temperature to rise and thick smoke to permeate the air and cloud your vision. It’s getting harder to breathe as all the fresh air is being sucked out of the room and being replaced with hot, black smoke. Your lungs are burning, as all of you is soon to be, and you can feel yourself losing consciousness from lack of oxygen. The last thing you see is the flames rising up above you to claim you for themselves._

You jolt awake, panting heavily, soaked in sweat, and struggle to sit up so you can untangle yourself from your twisted duvet. You know it was just another nightmare but you can still feel the pressure on your lungs, despite there not being any real fire or smoke, and your throat feels raw and burnt. Probably from screaming in your sleep. You take a few deep, gulping breaths and make your way into the small kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water and drink it carefully as you try to slow down your racing heartbeat. You lean out of the kitchen to confirm if your roommate’s door is open, and it is, which means she isn’t home and didn’t hear your panicked screams. Not that it would have been the first time. 

The blinking light on the microwave says it's 6:08 pm, meaning you got about 7 hours of sleep since coming home from the gallery and crawling into bed. Tonight’s showing starts at 7:30 and there's really no need for you to get there on time as no one but Lola is expecting you there anyway, so you can take your time getting ready. You’re in desperate need of a shower, if not for still being in last night’s outfit then from being drenched in sweat after that horrible dream. Another bonus to your roommate being out, you think, as you grab a towel out of the linen closet and head into the telephone box of a bathroom that you share with her. 

Despite your very recent nightmare of being burned alive you turn the water on as hot as it will go, waiting until the steam reaches the mirror to get under the scalding spray. If you had a therapist they would say something about how you need to char your own skin off in order to feel clean but you don’t have one. So after you have washed your hair and used up half of your shower gel scrubbing off sweat and last nights perfume, you stand under the water until it starts to run cold. Mattie would say that there was never a reason to not do one's hair but frankly you’ve never really been bothered and after running yours over with a towel until it no longer dampens your shoulders you throw it up in a bun and get down to the business of getting dressed. 

Part of the beauty of going to your own exhibition as a secret employee/spectator means that you can wear whatever you want, after all, no one is really looking at you. You put on a pair of black leather pants, admittedly with some effort, and your Magritte “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” t-shirt. Everyone appreciates some art humor right? If you’re going to be pretentious, you think, you might as well do it right. You’re grabbing a leather jacket from your closet when your stomach reminds you for the second time today that you require some kind of nourishment in the form of food. 

You’re back in the kitchen to dig through your practically empty refrigerator and ignore the 7 million Summer Society magnets your roommate has littered the door of it with when your phone buzzes on the counter. Will is confirming with you for the tenth time that the two of you are getting dinner tomorrow and this time you don’t bother replying just out of principle, you don’t flake out on Will. You’re surprised to be getting another text from Lola, shes usually too busy fussing before a showing to nag you, but when you open the message its just “SOS.” You reply with a single question mark and get back to finding something in your fridge that didn’t expire 6 months ago. 

Lola’s response is still all in caps which means she is really losing her mind about this. Apparently, there is going to be a journalist snooping around the gallery tonight, specifically to discover Carmilla’s secret identity. You’re not particularly worried, a few journalists have tried their hand at unmasking you to no success. There’s something with reporter types and not being able to see whats sitting right under their noses. Lola would have you stay away from the gallery tonight but you’re there almost every night. It would be much more suspicious for you to not be there when a journalist is making an announced visit. You’re warming up what you hope is only 3 day old Chinese takeout when you come across the note your roommate left in the, very empty, decorative fruit basket. It’s written in sloppy handwriting on a, you guessed it, Summer Society post it note:

>   
>  Mira,  
>  @ the gym, see you @ the gallery tonight.  
>  -D  
> 

You resist the urge to edit her note like a school teacher and also ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling you get at her use of your new nickname. You can’t remember who used it first, her or Lola, but it stuck. You were like the three musketeers, Mira, Lola and Xena (a name you thought fitting for a Summer) until Lola and Xena couldn’t be in the same room together without trying to rip each other’s throats out. Like the Dr. Jekyll situation, you were largely in the dark about what transpired between them, and because you were officially the middle man you decided it was better not to get involved.

The leftovers don’t taste spoiled so you finish off the container while watching a House Hunters marathon and before you know it the digital clock is informing you that it is 8:15 and you’re rushing out of your building before Lola texts you one more exclamation point. The parking lot is pretty full when you pull in so you are silently grateful that you have access to employee parking and a security badge to get in the side door and avoid the line at the main entrance, another brilliant idea from Lola. Most people just assume you’re a gallery employee, which technically you are when it’s not your artwork hanging on the walls. You’re barely into the offices and you can already hear the din of chatter from the main gallery.

You spot Lola standing just outside of the gallery doors, greeting people as they walk in and out, directing first-time visitors. You manage to tip toe up behind her and casually rest your chin on her shoulder. “Boo.” Lola spins around, stifling a shriek as she realizes it’s just you behind her. “Mircalla!” she says in a harsh whisper. “Firstly, you are going send me into cardiac arrest one of these days and secondly, please try not to draw attention to yourself” You chuckle lightly and give her arm one of those squeezes she hates so much as you move around her and into the gallery. 

You scan the entire room, your glance roaming over faces and canvas, as you walk up to the bar. Chris, the bartender, gives you a wide smile and hands you a cranberry soda before you reach behind the bar to grab Lola’s sacred checklist. You take a few sips of your drink, perfection as always, and blow Chris a kiss as he puts it back in the mini-fridge for you and you get to work on the list. You get about half way down the list before you let yourself look for him. You’re trying not to get your hopes up but he did say he’d drop by, not that his word means all that much to you anymore. You still can’t help the fact that you want to believe he’ll keep his promise this time. Elliot Vordenberg is a lot of things, not least of all one of your biggest weaknesses.

You may not have any romantic feelings for Elliot anymore, thankfully those are long dead and buried, but he was still your best friend once. No matter what was happening in your life with your parents or your brother Klaus, as long as you had Will, Mattie and Elliot, everything seemed to turn out okay. Until it didn’t. You find yourself staring at the first piece you painted when all of it had just gone to shit, you can still feel how angry you felt, how robbed of happiness your life seemed then. You started painting to take back your life, to finally control something and here you are, surrounded by all of your efforts and about 80-90 people. When your parents died, a small part of Mircalla died with them and in her place, Carmilla was born.

Everything is finally checked off the list and you’re heading back to Lola to see what needs to be done next when you accidentally make eye contact with Mattie. It’s too late to hide as she has already locked on target and is heading straight for you. You hate yourself a little bit for being both relieved and disappointed that he isn’t with her. “Well, well, well if it isn’t my ghost of a sister, I thought I might find you here.” You’re not sure exactly how she always sounds so patronizing but regardless you were already in defense mode the second you saw her. “What do you want, Mattie?” You’re rechecking the list in hopes that you look busy enough for her to leave you alone, you’re not particularly in the mood for sisterly bonding at this present moment. 

“Just saying hello, is it so bad to start a conversation with my own sister?” You would say the snarkiness is genetic if Mattie wasn’t adopted, your family proves a strong argument for nurture over nature. You resist the urge to reply with a biting remark about how it isn’t as bad as sleeping with your boyfriend at your graduation party but you already feel like a broken record as it is. “I guess not” you reply “look, I’ve really got a lot to do tonight and unfortunately uncomfortable family chit chat is not on the list,” you say tapping on the clipboard. “We’ll have to reschedule.” Mattie laughs coldly, “Whatever you say, Kitty. I just came over to tell you Elliot apologizes for his absence. His father has him busy being prepped to take over that terrible newspaper.”

You were completely prepared for him to bail but you really wish it hadn’t been Mattie who told you. “That’s fine,” you reply as apathetically as you can. “Enjoy the free cheese.” You walk away to start looking for Lola again, chastising yourself for your extremely lame parting remarks. You don’t see Mattie looking crestfallen behind you. Lola is nowhere to be found so you head back to the bar, Chris hands you your drink, and thus commences your favourite part of the evening: people watching. You’re looking at an alarmingly hipster-esque couple as she walks by. Valet/coffee girl has done a costume change, from her all-business pantsuit to a business casual button-down and jeans, and she is looking just as irresistible as the last two times you saw her.

You’re curious to see her reactions to your work so you creepily spend the better part of 10 minutes watching her move from one painting to another. She looks thoughtful, which is a look you appreciate while one is viewing your pieces, but at the same time, you feel quite exposed watching the way she seems to inspect and appraise your art. It’s a new feeling since the entire creation of Carmilla was centered on voiding this exact feeling. Hypothetically anyway, you can’t be exposed if no one knows who you are. She turns towards you, she could probably feel you staring holes into the back of her skull, and smiles brightly at you when you summon the guts to make your gaze meet her eyes. 

You’re about to wave her over when her expression changes abruptly and before you have a chance to figure out why you feel an elbow rest against your shoulder. You actually have to crane your neck to look up at Xena, who is almost completely comprised of legs and red hair, while you move her arm away from you. “Hello, roomwoman!” she says joyfully as Chris hands her a drink that is definitely not just orange juice. “Danny, how many times do I have to tell you I am not an arm rest” you reply, batting away her arm as it approaches you again. “Hmm, as many times as I have to tell you that you’re the perfect height for an arm rest.” She’s smiling dopily at you so you know this is not her first drink of the night. “We both know I can’t carry you home so maybe you should take it easy with the drinks there Clifford.” You’re not expecting the barking laugh she lets out but you can’t help but smile yourself. You remind yourself that you have to help Danny find a different way to be this carefree because alcoholism usually starts like this, you would know.

By the time Danny finally lets you go, Valet/Coffee girl a.k.a. Laura (you remembered) is nowhere to be found and Lola is rushing up to you with another list to finish off and then scurrying away again but not before giving Xena a scoff and an eye roll and being flipped off in return. Although you spend the majority of your time looking for but not finding Laura again, of course she disappears when you finally grow some lady balls, you manage to complete every task on the lists Lola gave you. After everyone files out of the gallery you start helping Lola get ready to close up shop for the night by grabbing the broom and sweeping up enough cracker crumbs from the floor to equate a full box of crackers, rather quickly as tonight has been pretty disappointing and you just want to get back to your apartment and sketch. 

Once the floors are swept and mopped you head back into the offices to get the gallery key from Lola while she finishes her paperwork but when you walk into the office you notice that Lola isn’t sitting at her desk typing away like every other night but sitting on the small sofa staring at nothing. Situations like these are difficult for you because you’re not that great of a friend and not even from lack of trying, you just don’t do feelings and you never know what to say. You’re alarmed further when she doesn’t even react to your entrance, even though you had to pass right in front of her. You wave your hand in front of her, “Uh, Lola?” you tried not to say it too loud so you didn’t startle her but loud enough that you hoped it would break her out of the freaky trance she’s in. It does, her head snaps up but the way she’s staring at you is not any better than the way she was staring at the wall. You raise your hands up “I come in peace, I promise. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong but I’d like to help if I can. You’re kind of freaking me out. This is the most I’ve said and the least you’ve said in a conversation with each other since the dawn of our friendship.”

She nods slowly, unfortunately for you still silently, and moves over, you’re assuming to give you a place to sit on the love seat. So you sit down next to her and you’re about to ask again if there’s something you can do, or just beg her to say something, because sure Lola can be annoying when she’s nagging your ear off but the silent treatment is really unsettling. Before you can speak she drops her head onto your shoulder and starts to cry, still silently, but at least you know she’s still human. You just sit like that for a couple minutes because you’re really not sure what to do but eventually you decide to wiggle your arm out from between you and wrap it around her shoulders. She moves her head into the crook of your neck and you’re rubbing her back like Will does for you when you’re upset. The two of you sit like this for an hour or so until Lola has no more tears left and your shoulder is diligently soaked. It’s then that she tells you the whole story, and just like when you got glasses for the first time at age 7, the world is looking very, very, different. And again, like when you were 7, how could you have been so blind?


	6. Laura: The Good. The Gone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura is not good at moving on but very good at acting impulsively. Where does the good go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops.

Chapter Six: Laura

The Good. The Gone.

The conversation with Perry did not go as you had hoped and although it wasn’t entirely your fault…who are you kidding, you were totally to blame. It’s kind of common sense that you shouldn’t ask someone for a favor and then bring up the fact that they cheated on your best friend by sleeping with your girlfriend ex-girlfriend. In your defense it just slipped out, everyone knows that word vomit is essentially a chronic condition in your case. You’re sitting in bed on your laptop trying to do as much research into the mysterious artist who literally appeared out of thin air 6 months ago as you can but your brain just keeps replaying one specific part of your conversation over and over and over again. You were sure that Perry knew who Carmilla really was even before your conversation, because not only is she the gallery’s curator but she’s also a control freak and there is no way she could go without knowing. You just had to find a way to get her to tell you.

That, of course, was easier said than done. The conversation was stiff, each of you feeling as if you were tip toeing around the other, making small talk and exchanging pleasantries that you both saw through immediately. It had been almost a year and you felt as if there was somehow both too much and not enough to say. At about the fifth awkward silence you decided it was time to rip the band-aid off. You wanted to be direct but you know better than to go at Perry head on, she may seem flighty but you know from personal experience that she can hold her own when she needs to. You were never her target before but just witnessing it was enough to keep you out of her way.

_“The gallery seems to be doing well recently” you state, she makes eye contact with you as if she is challenging you to ask what you want to ask, “With an artist like Carmilla exclusively holding presentations here that must bring in a lot of foot traffic, and new artists looking to get their big break as well” Perry audibly sighs. “You’re writing an article on Carmilla, aren’t you?” Her jaw tenses and she moves her arms from her sides and folds them across her chest. You don’t answer because you were expecting a little more build up and because you know you don’t have to as she very obviously wasn’t asking. She seems to take your silence as affirmation as she rocks back on her heels. She doesn’t look tired anymore, she looks angry, insulted even, and surprisingly possessive. She practically forces the words out through her teeth. “I can’t tell you who she is, Laura. So if that’s what you wanted you might as well go.”_

_This Perry is so far from the one you once knew and you’re so taken aback by it that the two of you stand in silence for a of couple moments. “Oh come on Per, you have to give me something, anything. This is my big break. You can’t leave me with nothing.” She winces when you say her name and blows out a harsh breath. You always notice how hard you’ve poked the bear when it is already too late and this time is no different, except this bear has more hurt in her eyes than fire which is even scarier to you. Not even the weekly cans of bear spray from your dad would help you out of this one. She starts to shake her head as she speaks “Did you really think that after almost a year, after everything that happened, that you could just walk in here and ask me to risk my entire career for a story? Not to mention the fact that it would be selling out a friend. Do you think so little of me now that I would do that?”_

_You don’t mean to get angry, and somewhere in the dark abyss where your sanity likes to hide you know she has a point, a very valid point, but you find yourself spitting back. “We were friends once too, Perry. I felt pretty sold out when you slept with my girlfriend and then lied to my face about it, for months. I guess I just thought maybe you were still my friend and willing to help me out but I guess I was wrong.” You didn’t even notice that your voice was raised but you see it in the arch of her brow. You both stand there staring at each other, and your heart is beating fast in your chest. You wanted to take the words back the second they left your lips and hit her like you were using your fists._

_You’re almost knocked off balance when she spins around and you can do nothing but watch her storm to the reception desk and start ruffling through drawers and papers. She finds what she was looking for and stiffly marches back to you, thrusting the card in her hand toward your chest. You must look as confused as you feel because she takes a tired breath in and explains. “It’s a press pass, for whichever exhibition you want, all of them if you want. You can do as much investigative journalism as you want in the gallery, ONLY during viewing hours. That’s all I can do.” You don’t remember putting your hand out but she is dropping the laminated badge into your palm. “You’re right, Laura. We were friends, and what I did was wrong. I broke your trust and I hurt you and I hurt Su- LaFontaine and I can’t take that back no matter how badly I wish I could. But I can’t break Carmilla’s trust, I can’t sabotage myself anymore, not even for you.”_

_She’s crying now, silent drops rolling down her cheeks and if you hadn’t forgotten how to cry so many years ago you probably would be too. She nods firmly, you’re not sure whether to you or herself, and starts to head back into the offices. The first time you try to call after her you find your throat is too dry and no sound comes out. You manage to call her name before she is completely through the doorway. “Perry, wait!” She doesn’t turn around, she just drops her hands to her sides before reaching for the door. “I’ll see you around, Laura” she says quietly, and then firmly says “And I just go by Lola now.”_

The door to the office is shut behind her and you’re left standing in the reception area holding on to the press pass so tightly your fingers are going numb. You stand there for an embarrassingly long time before you decide to go straight home, the half bottle of wine and solace of your bedroom to sulk outweighing your dedication to the story this time.

So here you are, the rest of the bottle and half of a frozen pizza finished, searching the web for information that just plain doesn’t exist. You don’t have any motivation to write this story anymore after the head to head with Perr- oh right Lola. 

You would usually talk to LaF about stuff like this, but considering it involves both your secret visit to their ex and your real human person feelings, you are stuck pouring out your heart and soul to your goldfish Lophii. Your dad is allergic to all pet dander so when LaF offered you the goldfish they had been experimenting on all of senior year you jumped at the opportunity to finally have a pet. LaF had named Lophii, short for some long Latin word meaning something and it just suited him so well that you kept it. You find yourself wondering whether or not Lophii really wants to hear about all of your problems when your phone buzzes noisily beside you, pulling you back into reality. It’s Danny, and the lack of exclamation points or emoji’s at first glance is not a good sign.

> Danger Lawrence: That stunt you pulled @ the gallery today… Not cool, Hollis. 

Danny had said that she and Perry stopped talking months and months ago but you guess Perry threw out the white flag in order to inform Danny about what her very obviously unstable girlfriend ex-girlfriend was up to. You’re about to comment on her insistent use of the at symbol, even though it is definitely not the time to do so, but before you can type up a witty remark more messages from her start to come in.

> Danger Lawrence: It’s not fair for you to use what happened to get people to do what you want
> 
> Danger Lawrence: Lola lost the most, remember. The gallery, the art, it’s all she has.
> 
> Danger Lawrence: You poured salt in an open wound, Laura.

As if you didn’t feel bad enough already, Danny had to go and be right again. Most of the time it really pissed you off that Danny was the one who screwed up but somehow everything still felt like your fault. It was undeniably true that Perry did lose the most, she lost her home, her best friend, her fiancé. When you really think about it, in the end you really only lost her, granted you and Danny aren’t together anymore but she’s still a part of your life. LaFontaine says they haven’t spoken to Perry since she moved out a year ago, and you believe it mostly because there are no secrets between you and LaF (until now) and also because the one box Perry forgot is still sitting in LaF’s front hall in the same spot it was in when she left it 12 months ago.

True to form you are making things harder and harder for yourself every day. You realize that moping in bed and fruitlessly googling Carmilla is getting you absolutely nowhere and the green press badge is glaring at you from the corner of your room. It may be distasteful to show up tonight, considering what an ass you were today, but you need to feel like you’re at least getting some research done. Plus, you don’t think you can face LaF yet. 

You change into something that doesn’t scream reporter and just remember to drop a twenty on the counter for Betty, to replace her cereal and for her “emotional and mental damage”. The walk to the gallery feels even longer than your walk from it earlier and you forgot earphones so you’re essentially trapped with either the silence or your own conflicting thoughts. In both instances you lose. Despite its possibly disastrous consequences, your confrontation did encourage your current theory. The kind of blind defensiveness that she had shown early on meant that Carmilla was someone very important to her, and even though she probably hates you now, there can only be so many people she cares about that much. 

The line is about the length you expected, out from the entrance and onto the sidewalk, but it’s nothing compared to the line waiting to get into the parking lot. You can’t help but be thankful for the gallery’s convenient location, even if now it’s feeling a little too close for comfort. The younger woman at the door waved you over when she caught a glimpse of your press pass so you wearily made your way to the front of the line. You must have looked surprised because she felt the need to inform you that press didn’t have to wait in line and were free to walk in and out as they pleased. 

Even though you were here no more than 8 hours ago, the gallery is completely transformed. The lights are all dimmed except for the spotlights over the artwork, and of course the light above the bar. There is not a lot of personal space available as people are brushing past you in search of either another painting or another drink. The sneak peek you had earlier was nothing compared to the spectacle the gallery was now. Each piece was screaming at you, their loud colours and blatant symbolism practically reaching off the canvas and grabbing hold of you. You’re taking a glancing look around the room when, for a moment, you make eye contact with Perry. 

You smile at her, both out of habit and to throw out a quick, sub-par peace gesture. You’re not surprised when she just nods at you and goes back to whatever she was doing while you quickly try to distract yourself amongst the art and the organized chaos. You spend about half an hour admiring the work and cataloguing faces, every so often subtly taking notes on your phone, and slowly you start to feel the drive again. You have to find out who Carmilla really is, you can’t keep losing focus. You have a better idea now of who in the crowd is a regular and who is just here for the art. The locals hang around with the staff, they spend more time doing that than looking at the art, but still take a few minutes after each conversation to look around. They have very obviously seen it all before. You can’t help but wonder if even the locals know and you make a point to approach one of them later in the night.

You find yourself in front of a couple pieces you haven’t seen before so you take a break from staring at strangers and focus on the work in front of you. There was just something about Carmilla’s art that dug into your bones but you couldn’t place it. Her work was good art, and you would know you were friends with Pe-Lola for 5 years, but that still wasn’t what was pulling you in like a magnet. What kind of investigative reporter are you if you can’t figure out your own damn feelings. During your internal conflict you get the distinct feeling that someone is watching you so you turn back in search of a culprit.

Kitty, you still can’t get over that name, is leaning against the bar and looks away right when you catch her staring. You can’t help but smile at what looks like a blush forming on her cheeks and when she finally makes eye contact with you its apparent that her face is very rosy, and very beautiful. You’re still making eye contact so you start to make your way over before stopping in your tracks. Kitty must have noticed something because she looks confused for a moment before Danny, who was walking up behind her, reaches her and throws in arm around her shoulders, resting her right elbow on Kitty’s right shoulder and whispering something that makes Kitty roll her eyes and smile. You feel physically ill, of course she knows Danny, Kirsch had mentioned a few months ago that he had seen Danny hanging around with a “mysterious brunette hottie” but Danny had said there was nothing going on. It didn’t look that way to you. They were still laughing and smiling and Danny was being super touchy so she must be drunk. You know you’re being irrational but you are pretty nauseated at this point so in a last ditch effort to not be the girl puking in the gallery, you make a break for the exit. 

You do feel a little better once you’re out on the sidewalk, the cool night air replacing the almost stifling smell of wine and paint covered canvas. Although you don’t feel sick anymore you still can’t stop picturing them together, your mystery crush, who you don’t even know, and your ex-girlfriend who you don’t even want. Once again that hidden semblance of sanity reminds you that you’re being ridiculous but when have you ever listened to it? Whatever focus you had regained in the gallery is now gone, all you can think about is booze and forgetting both of the faces etched onto your skull. You pull out your phone while making your way to the bar and you’re trying to swallow your guilt under all of the other self-destructive feelings you’re experiencing.

> Me: On my way, I need a drink ASAP.
> 
> LaF: Ur wish is my command! Is 2nite a tequila nite!?
> 
> Me: Tonight is an anything night

The bar is starting to come into view and it scares you how much it feels like home now. You know that drinking doesn’t solve your problems, it doesn’t even make you feel any better but it’s better than not doing anything at all. You stop before the door to collect yourself, you were not at the gallery tonight, you did not see Danny, you did not see Kitty and you definitely did not see Lo-fuck it Perry. LaF catches sight of you standing at the door and they quickly throw it open and pull you inside, waiting about a second before placing a drink in your hand. They are smiling like they’ve already had a few drinks themselves and before you let the guilt rise a little too high you ask LaF if they want to do shots with you, and that’s the last thing from the night that you remember.


	7. Carmilla: Family Matters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mircalla starts to realize there is more to a family than she may have previously thought. Also Laura messes things up as per usual. When it comes down to it, family matters are when family, well, matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been two months, super ooooops. Too many excuses but hopefully it doesn't happen again. I have the next couple chapters mapped out, this one was a liiiiittle rushed.

Chapter Seven: Carmilla

Family Matters.

 

After checking if Lola was okay to drive about 7 times before you finally let her go, you decide to hold off on your usual routine of frozen pizza and sketching until dawn and instead start strolling through the gallery’s sleepy neighbourhood. It always surprised you how calm this area of the city was at night, the street still lit but also eerily silent. As much as you loved reveling in the queer serenity of this area after dark, you had ulterior motives for tonight’s midnight jaunt. Lola had just provided you with a lot of information that could very well change the dynamic between you two, and the dynamic between you and Xena. 

Despite your best efforts you’re still kicking yourself for not noticing sooner, or for not just asking in the first place. You’re stuck in this weird place between feeling hurt that they kept all of it from you and feeling guilty for acting like you didn’t want to know, didn’t care to know. You realize that you are wandering a little farther than usual but continue on anyway, you don’t know if you can see Danny yet. Danny. Xena was the only close friend you had that you weren’t employed with or related to, you try not to gag at the thought that Elliot is technically listed under the “related to” descriptor now, though it’s better than not having him listed at all. You lived together, she knew things about you that even your siblings didn’t, and now it seems you knew nothing about her.

Lola said that they had planned on telling you but after finding out about what happened with Mattie and Elliot they thought it would upset you. You can’t tell yet whether you would have agreed with them or not. Would Danny telling you that it’s okay to trust again have been less believable had you known she cheated on her ex-girlfriend with one of her best friends? Would you have still felt bad for Lola when she had to move out of Dexter’s lab if you knew it was because she had cheated on poor Dexter 6 months before they were supposed to get married? 

You would like to think it wouldn’t have mattered, because they’re your friends and they’re human but at the same time you are not the same person today that you were a year ago. Before Carmilla, Mircalla Karnstein was willing to throw her own sister under the bus, not that it wasn’t justified, and abandon everything her family had built and worked for. You were hurt, broken, angry and most of all vindictive. You wrongfully believed that you didn’t need anyone and it was primarily through your friendships with Danny and Lola that you learned otherwise. The old Mircalla didn’t believe in forgiveness, in your heart you know she would have taken their truth as evidence against everything they taught you about trust. You may never have changed.

The streets around you are becoming less and less familiar in the fading night and you’re about to turn back when you notice the lively sounds of the bar ahead of you for the first time. You were so lost in your retrospective pity party that you didn’t even hear the muffled, erratic scattering of voices amongst the heavy beat of music. The bar is uncharacteristically lit, the two large windows displaying all of the drinking and dancing amid a warm yellow tone, the patrons swimming in comforting light. Like a moth to a flame you are drawn to the transparency and heat it seems to be emitting. You have stopped across the street, leaned against the streetlamp you are watching the commotion unfold, the drunk and the sober alike moving around in the glow.

Two girls stumble out of the doors and on to the street, stopping just to the side as one lights a cigarette for the other, followed by one for herself. They are undoubtedly intoxicated, the shorter one swaying into the taller each time she goes to speak. You don’t mean to continue staring but there’s something about the way the shorter one holds herself that has captivated you, your brain whirring trying to place her. You know they are flirting, the taller girl stroking the shorter’s arm, the shorter girl giggling and leaning in. When the taller one finally makes her move in to kiss her they stumble under the streetlamp and in an instant your tongue feels too big for your mouth. Laura. The shorter girl’s face is illuminated for only a moment before being eclipsed by the taller girl as she goes in for another kiss. 

After all of your introspection tonight you can’t help but be frustrated by this feeling. It’s an odd mix of jealousy and intrigue, the former of which at least is irrational given you have nothing to be jealous about. Sure, you flirted with Laura, and she flirted back, but nothing beyond harmless flirting and coffee spilling had occurred. Envy, you would understand but jealousy is surprising to you. You are already deciding to make your way back and call it a night when Laura notices you standing there, and because you are right under the light, she seems to recognize you immediately. Her eyes soften for a moment, but then she turns back to the taller girl, pulling her into another kiss and obstructing your view of her. Before their lips meet again, you have already started walking away.  
-

Emotional exhaustion is one of the very few things that would make you fall asleep before noon, so you are not completely surprised to wake up at 10am, having crawled into bed and fallen asleep the second you got home last night. Even still, your body is not used to sleeping when it needs to so you are groggy and disoriented all the same. Your brain may be screaming out for caffeine but your bladder is insistent on taking precedence this morning so you slip into some clothes, because Xena is a morning person, and head for the bathroom. 

As suspected Danny is sitting on the counter in the kitchen, a cup of tea on her right side and her phone on her left, staring into her own lap with a bothered expression on her face. She jumps a little in surprise as you walk into the kitchen, obviously not expecting you to be up before lunch time, quickly and clumsily hopping off the counter. She’s staring at you in a guilty, wide eyed way that you are not accustomed to due to the fact your friendship is 85% sarcasm and arrogant banter, but have a pretty good idea of it’s cause. You’re trying to subtly speed walk past her on the way to the bathroom on account of your demanding bladder when she practically yells at you.

“We should talk” she blurts, visibly louder than intended by the look of pure shock on her face that you’re sure is mirrored on your own “about stuff you know, we should… uh I should… uh I need to explain.” 

Her voice was drastically quieter by the end of her statement, and even though she was probably a foot taller than you at least, her head was lowered and she was peering at you through her long curtain of red hair. The bathroom is in your sights so you make an effort to nod in Xena’s direction and start to move toward it but she starts talking again. “I know it’s a Klaus day, so like, we don’t have to talk about it now. But we should talk…about it. I mean if you want, obviously, but I think we should..”

You know she’s going to continue to ramble and you also know that your bladder is running out of patience so you put your hand up in “stop” motion towards the direction that Danny is now pacing and start backing into the bathroom before you say “Yes, we will talk, but now I need to pee.” She stops pacing and looks at you, evidently noticing the unintentional “bathroom dance” your legs have been doing for the last couple minutes.

“Oh, yeah. Shit, sorry” she says hastily, as she jumps back onto the counter and you wave a hand at her before closing the bathroom door.

After your much needed bathroom break you exit to find Xena in the exact same position you had just left her in. Again, she hops off the counter and stands stiffly in the middle of the kitchen at first sight of you, like a solider at attention. You will give the Summers one thing, they all must have impeccable posture. When you make eye contact Danny angles her head toward the coffee maker, a little too quickly as it looks more like a nervous tic until she follows it with another unintentional yell “I made coffee” she says loudly before continuing on quieter, “I uh drank most of it but there’s enough for another cup if you want one.” You do, in fact want coffee so you nod and shimmy past Danny to grab a mug from the cupboard. 

She’s already starting to talk, and while you pour your coffee, you pick up on a mixture of ‘I’m sorry’s’ and ‘I should have told you’s’. She stops talking when you turn to face her, taking your first sip from the steaming mug. She’s staring at you expectantly and even though this was all you could think about last night, you’re kind of drawing a blank. So, inspired by last nights events with Lola, you put your mug down on the counter behind you and wrap your arms around Danny’s middle. Since hugging has never really been a friendship staple for you both, she stiffens in your arms at first, but then wraps her arms back around you too. 

“It’s all good, Xena” you say, only loud enough for her to hear, “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that but I understand.” Danny drops her head so that she’s resting her chin on the top of your head so you can feel the little droplets hitting your hair. You stay like that for a bit, not even half as long as you did with Lola, before you notice the time on the oven display. 

“Shit” you say loudly, jolting the both of you out of the hug “I’m gonna be late to see Klaus.” Danny looks back at the time and nods, “Yeah you should go, I have to meet up with some girls at the Summer house anyway. Dinner tonight?” she asks. You’re about to say yes when one of the 7 billion alarms Will set for your dinner date with him goes off. “Sorry, already have plans with Will but we’ll hang out soon.” 

She nods and pushes you towards your room to get dressed in actual clothes, you’re about to shut the door when she says “Hey, Mira. Thanks. I know you should be focused on your family today so just thanks, for thinking of me.” You were just gonna wave that one off but you realized something last night that you can’t let go of today. You open the door a little wider so you’re sure she hears you, “Danny, you are my family.” You catch the smallest of smiles appear on her face as you close the door.  
-

 

You’re practically running through the double doors at the entrance of the rehab wing at Styria Medical. You’re not late, yet, but Klaus values punctuality even more than mother did so you’re not trying to push your luck. You slide up to the reception desk, thankful to see the familiar blonde sitting behind it. 

“Cutting it close there, Mircalla” Betty says, trying to hide a smile as she pulls out a visitors badge and slides you the sign in sheet. 

“I appreciate the concern, but I made it” You say clipping the badge to your shirt. “Barely.” You hear from a deep voice behind you. Your look towards it to see that Klaus has wheeled himself up a few feet away from the reception desk, smirking at you with his arms crossed.

It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, although it has been almost 3 years, but you are still slightly shocked at the sight of Klaus in his wheelchair. You’ve taught yourself to hide it, not willing to risk Klaus’ recovery on your inability to control your facial expressions, but sometimes you still catch yourself looking up at where he once towered above you. You roll your eyes at him before turning around to give Betty back the sign in sheet. 

“Thanks, Blondie” you say with a wink before you plant both feet on Klaus’ chair. “Hi ho silver!” you mock shout, grabbing the baseball cap off of his head and placing it on your own. Klaus jerks backward, knocking you off the chair and chuckling as you catch yourself, just narrowly avoiding a good taste of hospital linoleum. “Bye Betty!” you exclaim as you start pushing Klaus down the hall, an action which you know he hates. Once you’ve rounded the corner he brings you to a screeching halt by grabbing the wheels of his chair.  
“I got it from here, thank you, Kitty.” 

You raise our hands in surrender and move to walk alongside him as he starts wheeling himself down the hall again. “So” you say, not even bothering to hide the mischievous grin on your face “When are you going to ask Betty on a date?” He sighs, accustomed to your meddling into his romantic life. “When you grow up” he retorts and you effectively prove him right by sticking your tongue out at him. You finally reach the courtyard and get settled in your usual spot at the chess table. 

“I can’t ask her out.” He states firmly, while aligning all of the pieces for a new game. You’re about to ask why when he answers, “just look at me” he says quietly, gesturing to himself in the chair. You do look at him, though most of the time you’re not quite sure what you’re seeing. He looks like an older more worn version of Will, they share the same sleek jaw and strong cheekbones, but you share his nose and lips and his eyes are his own; a very dark and haunted grey. Unlike Will with his longer hair and stubble, under his plain black baseball cap Klaus still keeps his dark hair cut short into a crew cut, his face freshly shaved every day. Sometimes you find yourself wondering how someone can seem so put together and so torn apart at the same time, you are kind of glad to not know the answer. You come to see Klaus at least once a week, usually twice, and every time he is different. These days, more often than not he is the funny but articulate, quiet but strong older brother that he was before the accident but sometimes he is cold, distant, and resentful. 

You can’t even try to understand what he is dealing with, you can only try and empathize. As an athlete, Klaus being paraplegic took a lot of what he thought he was away from him, you imagine it as if someone had taken your eyes or your hands, you could still make art but it would never be the same. “She’s probably going to be a doctor, and I’m going to be nothing.” He continues, bringing your attention back to the chess game, “I can’t be a soldier, I can’t be a coach. It’s not worth it.” You know he’s wrong but you also know better than to push him when he’s feeling like this so you only say that you’re almost certain Betty has an interest in him outside of her friendly demeanor. 

“So,” he says obviously looking to change the subject. “What’s new with you little sister?” he asks looking at you inquisitively. “Well” you say, and then the flood gates are opened.


	8. Laura: Bitter Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admitting you were wrong can be a bitter pill to swallow and Laura is going to need a lot of water. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOPS.

Chapter Eight: Laura

Bitter Pills.

 

Your first thought of the day is "ouch". Compared to today’s, yesterday’s hangover was a casual stroll through the park on a warm spring day. You’re not really sure if opening your eyes is even an option at this point considering every part of your body is screaming in pain, especially your head. With your eyes still closed you run through your mental checklist for the day; it’s Wednesday, which means you have no meetings and therefore no reason to go into the office or even leave your bed in the first place. Perfect. You’re thrilled by the opportunity to lounge around your apartment in sweats all day, you know it’s not productive or at all going to help you achieve your goals but at this moment you really don’t care.

You’re weighing out your options between getting up and making yourself a greasy breakfast or just rolling over and getting a few more hours of sleep when you feel something large move beside you in the bed. You freeze, suddenly unsure of whether or not you’re even in your own bed let alone who is sleeping VERY close to you. You try to steady yourself, taking a deep breath before you open your eye just enough to sneak a peek at the body to your left. You can’t help but utter a breathy “Thank god” when you see the shock of short red hair visible above the covers. It seems that your words of relief are not as quiet as you mean them to be when LaFontaine rolls back towards you, opening their eyes and looking at you quizzically.

“Happy to see me?” they say, a sleepy smirk forming on their face. You want to scowl but you really can’t help but burst out laughing, which LaF readily joins in on. This is not the first time you’ve woken up to LaFontaine wrapped up in your sheets and it's definitely not the first time you’ve felt so relieved it was them instead of a hookup. “So, Sweetie”, your best friend says, batting their eyelashes and giving you puppy dog eyes, “How about you join me on my walk of shame to the diner before round two?” They even throw in a wink for good measure. You balk, batting them in the head with a pillow as they giggle and leave the bed. “Let’s go, Morning Breath” LaF calls over their shoulder “Pancakes are only half price until noon!”

\---

“What even happened last night?” You ask between bites of french toast. LaFontaine is in the middle of drowning their pancakes in melted butter and syrup so they don’t even bother to look up while they start to eat and give you the cliff notes version of the previous night at the same time. “You showed up at the bar around 10, got absolutely plastered on tequila shots by 11. We danced, you disappeared with Danny look alike number 15 and then I walked your drunk ass home and tucked you in, per your request.” 

They look up at you after a couple moments of silence, to see the confused look on you face. LaF sighs before rolling their eyes. “Tall, light brown hair, wearing a baseball jersey. Ringing any bells?” They say before taking a swig of coffee. Right. Samantha, or Sarah, or Stephanie? You really aren’t sure but you vaguely remember dancing with her while Kirsch gave you a thumbs up from the bar. There is more than a little part of you that’s surprised you didn’t wake up next to her this morning instead. The two of you keep eating in what is almost an awkward silence, you know how LaF feels about your increasing number of overnight guests. They would never judge you but they are very open about being worried about you. They’ve practically started a club, LaF, your dad… Danny. You know they mean well and they care but you are very much tired of living to someone else’s standards, you’re doing your own thing now no matter what they think. 

The awkwardness eventually fades when LaF tells you all about their new lab assistant, JP. They’re telling you a ‘funny’ story involving JP and a vat of pig spleens when they notice the smarmy look on your face. “What?” they deadpan peering at your face in an attempt to assess the situation. You giggle before asking “Is he cute?” LaFontaine rolls their eyes and shrugs, “He’s British.” You let out a teenage girl style ‘oooooh’ and nudge their foot under the table, their cheeks turning a light but noticeable shade of pink. “It’s not like that.” They mutter their eyebrows pulling together into a frown. You’re starting to apologize when LaF interrupts you. “I know you saw Lola yesterday.” They say quietly, looking into their almost empty plate. You find yourself frozen except for the fact that you keep opening and closing your mouth like a confused mime, or a goldfish. They look up at you and you can’t tell anything from their face, and you're not used to that because LaF is always an open book. “Danny told Kirsch, Kirsch told me, but I don’t understand why you didn’t.” You recognize the look on their face now, the only thing in their eyes is sadness. This is exactly what you were hoping to avoid and they knew the whole time.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m doing a story on Carmilla for the paper and I knew Perry worked with them at the gallery and I didn’t want to bring it all up for you again so I didn’t tell you but I messed up and I’m sorry.” You don’t miss the way they flinch at her nickname but they look up at you with determination in their eyes. “I’m not a fragile flower, Laur. I’m a grown up and so is Lola and if you are going to talk about our past with her I should at least hear it from you and not Wilson Kirsch of all people.” They take a deep breath in, “Is that why you couldn’t tell me what your big break was about? Because you thought it would make me sad?” They shake their head “We aren’t supposed to lie to each other” they whisper and your heart is somewhere in your throat. 

You apologize again and they accept but the look on their face doesn’t really change and you're thinking about every friendship and relationship that you’ve fucked up in the last 6 years and it can’t be this one too because you’ve just tried so hard to make everything right. For the first time in all your years of friendship, you finish your meal with LaFontaine in uncomfortable silence.

\---

 

After parting with LaF at the diner you meant to go home and straight back into bed but, somehow, instead you ended up wandering around your neighborhood aimlessly. It takes almost an hour of walking around in what are essentially circles before you decide to actually head home. You make it a block from your building when you hear an all too familiar voice behind you. “Hollis!” Danny calls and although she doesn't sound close you know with legs like hers, she will be soon, but that doesn't stop you from pretending not to hear her. “Yo, Laura!” She calls again, already sounding like she's right behind you. You sigh before turning around, and just as you suspected she is standing barely a foot away from you. True to form, Danny looks like she's out for a run, wearing a Summer Society tank top and running shorts, her long red hair tied up in a ponytail that reaches pretty far down her back.

“Danny” you reply dryly before you turn back to continue walking. Seemingly unperturbed by your tone, Danny manages to get in front of you in order to carry on this unwanted conversation while jogging backward. “So, how are ya feelin’?” she asks, a knowing smirk played out on her strong features, “A little birdy told me you had quite the experience last night” she finished, of course, with a wink. What is with everyone and winking? You also need to have a stern chat with one Mr. Wilson Kirsch. “I’m fine” you reply with an eye roll, trying to keep your composure without seeming too forced. 

She brushes it off with a quiet “Sure you are” before regaining her enthusiasm. “Did you want to come watch a movie at my place with Mel and I tonight? Before you ask, we’re trying to make nice for the good of the Summers. Kirsch might even drop by.” She’s looking at you a little too expectantly for your liking today so when you reply with a “No, I should go home and work”, she starts in on her efforts to persuade you and you lose that aforementioned composure pretty quickly. Not to mention the lingering feelings of jealousy and angst from last night. “I’m just not interested, okay? Why don’t you invite Kitty instead, you two seem to be pretty close” you snap and try to move around where Danny has stopped dead in front of you.

Danny reaches out to stop you and you actually take the time to look at her before you shrug her hand away. She looks confused, it’s a look that you used to find unbearably adorable but now you just can’t help but feel annoyed. “Kitty?” she asks, sounding completely bewildered. You honestly can’t tell if she’s just playing dumb so you roll your eyes before attempting to describe her. “You know, dark hair, about this tall, moody, mysterious personality? You were all over her at the gallery last night. Or maybe you never got her name.” You know the jab is unnecessary, besides who are you to judge? But if she is playing the amnesia card you want to shut that down ASAP.

Her brow furrows deeper, “You were at the gallery last night?” she asks and this time she does seem genuine. “Yes, doing research for the piece on Carmilla and then I spotted you all over Kitty, not that she seemed to mind.” You reply petulantly. Danny’s brows stay furrowed for a moment longer before they practically shoot up off her forehead and she bursts into uncontrollable giggles. “Oh, now you remember?” you ask, recognizing how whiney and childish you sound but choosing to ignore it. Danny is still laughing so you begin to walk off before she grabs you again, visibly trying to calm her own laughter by taking very long, deep breaths. “Laura, ” she says between giggles, “that was my roommate, Mira, the one I told you about?” You vaguely remember Danny mentioning a quiet, practically invisible roommate the one time you visited her current apartment, almost a year ago.

She had almost stopped laughing completely when she said “I forgot that she went by Kitty sometimes. I was just messing around, trying to get a rise out of her. Honest.” No longer laughing, she raises an eyebrow at you before asking, “How do you know her?” You wanted to hold onto the belief that Danny was lying about Kitty but you knew she wasn't. If there was one thing you had learned about Danny it was when she was telling the truth. “We just ran into each other at a coffee shop” you reply, hoping that the memory of knocking into her and dousing her in coffee wasn’t showing across your cheeks. “Uh huh,” she says smirking and throwing an arm around your shoulder that you try not to flinch away from. “Come on,” she says, pulling you along with her, “we’re watching a movie”.

\---

 

Danny’s apartment looks about the same as it did the last and only time you saw it, plenty of Summer Society ribbons and jerseys pinned up on the walls, three bookcases filled top to bottom with long titles in a variety of languages that you can now assume belong strictly to Kitty, or Mira. After guiding you toward the pair of well-worn sofas, Danny enters the small kitchen before offering you a bottle of water from the fridge. In moments she returns, flopping down next to you on the sofa as she hands you the bottle, her other hand gripping her own bottle and a polaroid picture. “See,” she says, handing you the small photo. 

It’s a picture of Kitty and Danny, the first girl is visibly grimacing, wearing what appears to be a very small, princess themed party hat with the words ‘Birthday Girl’ scrawled across in glittery swirls and the second girl grinning from ear to ear with a homemade sash reading ‘Best Roommate Ever’ in rushed, messy handwriting. You flip the photo over and in precise, unfamiliar cursive you read 

‘To Xena,  
Happy Birthday to me, 2014.   
Never again.   
Sincerely, Mira’ 

You’re about to comment on the hat and sash when a door opens down the hall and out strolls the birthday girl herself. Now, you usually put a lot of effort into not staring but damn, it’s like the governor’s ball all over again. Kitty’s hair is down and wavy around her neck, just barely covering the straps of the flowy slate gray dress with a navy blue stripe up the side that falls far enough from her knees to almost have you drooling. She doesn’t look up immediately so you have time to admire her bold makeup and the curve of her full lips covered with dark lipstick. You’re remembering to close your mouth when she looks up, her eyes widening for a second out of recognition before she recovers, her features blank. 

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear” Danny jokes, hopping off the couch to exaggeratedly check Kitty out, wolf whistle included. Danny waves her arm over in your direction and then back at her roommate, “Laura, this is Mira. Mira, this is the Laura I’m always talking about, although I’ve heard you two are already acquainted. Isn’t that right, Kitty?” Kitty’s eyes shoot up in surprise, but just for a second before she purses her lips to answer before you can speak. “We’ve met” she replies gruffly, grabbing a set of keys off the counter in the kitchen and heading for the door. She doesn’t even look at you as she speaks directly to Danny. “I’ll be home for eleven.” She says, and is through the door in the blink of an eye, the door shutting loudly behind her.

“Someone is in a bad mood” Danny huffs casually, getting up and heading for her room. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, pick something to watch until Mel and Kirsch get here.” You nod but you can hear the shower running before you even make a move for the remote, you keep replaying this last interaction with Kitty, or Mira you guess, over and over in your head. The woman that just walked out of the apartment was not the same one who gave you a $50 tip or flirted with you after you dumped hot coffee on her and you were having a hard time reconciling the two. Maybe she really was in a bad mood or maybe she just wasn’t interested in being friendly or more than friendly with you. You decide to drop it, switching on the TV and beginning the tedious search for a decent movie.

\---

 

The memory hits you about halfway through the movie. Mel had arrived about an hour after Danny had gotten ready and Kirsch a few minutes after her. After very little discussion, because you were easily outnumbered, snacks were gathered and a new action film was played. It was during a particularly loud car chase scene that you remembered the streetlamp. It was still a little hazy, Kirsch wasn't entirely joking when he said he almost called you an ambulance last night, but you remember seeing her standing there. You can remember looking her dead on like she was a magnet for your eyes. She looked lonely, tired, but you weren't yourself. You were drunk and angry, both at what you thought was going on between Kitty and Danny and also what had happened with Lola, so instead of crossing the street like you don't want to admit you wanted to, you kissed Sarah? Sandra? Sam? After, when you looked up to where she had been standing, she was gone and you had felt the regret settle in immediately. You had put out the cigarette in your hand, you only seem to smoke when you drink which is alarmingly often recently, and gone back to the bar to find LaFontaine so you could go home.

You're sober now, and feeling all the more guilty after remembering. Now you don't blame her for being short around you today, you definitely deserved it. The movie ends and Danny is offering to put on another and mix up some drinks but you really need to get home. It might be the exhaustion from the last few days, or that it's quarter to eleven and that's when Kitty is supposed to be back. If today was any indication, you are no good at apologies. You say your goodbyes and are heading for the door when you spot the pad of sticky notes on the fridge. You ask Danny if you can leave a note for Kitty and you brush her off as she winks her approval. You quickly scrawl your note and stick it to the fridge before rushing out of the apartment, just five minutes to eleven.


	9. Carmilla: Red light. Green Light.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mircalla is a distracted driver and a poor conversationalist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Writer's block is a real pain in the ass.

Chapter Nine: Carmilla

Red Light. Green Light.

The car in front of you comes to an abrupt stop, their break lights warning you with just enough time for you to slam on your own breaks to avoid rear-ending them. “Shit!” you exclaim, running your free hand through your hair to avoid flipping the driver the bird as you notice a gaggle of school-aged children crossing in front of them. You should’ve been paying better attention but you were occupied with thoughts of a surprise “family” dinner tonight. Among the hundreds of texts from Will reminding you of your plans, he just so happened to mention in the most recent text that Mattie and Elliot would be joining you. 

You had immediately tried to get out of it by calling him to throw a tantrum. Yet, as always, your brother knows your weaknesses, himself included, and you begrudgingly agreed to attend. What you didn’t agree to, however, was that you were going to behave, although that brought up the issue of causing a scene in a popular, high-class Styrian restaurant where everyone knows who you are and what your family name means. The very idea of wasting an entire evening with your dysfunctional “family” instead of working on your art was enough to make you yearn to disappear forever in a plume of black smoke. What must you have done in a past life to deserve being duped into spending hours with your ex and the woman he cheated on you with, a woman who just so happens to also be your older sister.

You’re relieved to arrive home to an empty apartment, Danny being probably engaged in some athletic/Summer related activities, which means there would be no arm wrestle for the luxury to shower first. You had caught her off guard a few times in the beginning but ever since she started her new workout regime, Xena had been winning the exclusive rights to all the hot water. Despite having the option of taking an extremely, long, hot shower, you opt instead to bathe quickly, letting the too hot water cleanse you of an ounce of stress before you have to deal with the prospect of dressing for such a miserable occasion.

After checking the time, you lounge around your room in a towel, trying to find any distraction available that didn’t include possibly covering yourself in splattered paint. You must have checked every social media account you have access to before giving in and heading for your closet. If it was just a dinner with William you wouldn’t have to worry so much, throwing on the closest presentable outfit, but Mattie was a different story entirely. Digging into the back of your closet, you rifle through clothes that almost seem to belong to a different person, and in a way you suppose they do. The old Mircalla lived a lavish life of designer frocks and business suits, expensive high heels, and even more extravagant jewelry. She would have been horrified at the endless amount of ratty t-shirts and ripped jeans crowding the front of your full closet, let alone the sheer indescribable amount of leather.

Eventually, you find a dress that you believe won’t cause you some kind of physical pain, albeit perhaps a bit of the emotional kind, and get to work trying to turn starving artist into polished heiress. It takes you almost an hour to get your hair looking presentable, curled expertly as opposed to wild waves, and another half hour to put makeup on for the first time in a few days. After some stern grappling, you are zipped into the dress and putting on your jewelry when you notice that the bracelet from your mother is not present among your other trinkets. Your first instinct isn’t to panic, figuring you took it off after a late night and didn’t think to return it to its rightful home but after a quick glance around your casually messy room a cold chill is starting to raise hairs on the back of your neck.

Before you even realize, you are tearing through drawers, lifting up bedsheets and palming pockets in search of the missing bracelet. The dread is rising steadily in your throat the longer your search proves fruitless. You can feel the tears prickling your eyes as you continue to blow through your room, tossing everything in attempts to spot the small rose gold chain but it’s nowhere in sight. At one point you hear voices enter the apartment, Xena and someone who sounds vaguely familiar but you don’t dwell on it, too occupied by the knots forming in your stomach. You are halfway under your bed, using your phone light as a guide, scanning through forgotten clothing and spider webs when you are startled by a delicate jingle of bells in your ear. You immediately go to sit up, effectively smashing your skull against your bed frame before you remember your current position.

Despite the sharp pain emanating from the back of your head it doesn’t take you long to realize the offending noise is the alarm you set on your phone for when you needed to leave. You manage to scoot out from under your bed and head for your vanity mirror, putting a valiant effort into straightening out your recently wrinkled dress. Your hair is slightly disheveled but it’s nothing a few spritzes of hair spray won’t mend and so you huffily grab your purse and shoes and make your way out of your bedroom. Already in a mood, you are hoping to avoid Danny and whoever her guest may be but you’ve just made it out the door and you can see the two of them in your periphery. You hear a gasp that was definitely not from Xena and your eyes are drawn straight to the short brunette in your living room. 

All you can think about it how you must look like a damn cartoon character with the way you feel your eyes bugging right out of your head. Standing no more than 5 feet away from you, in your apartment, is Laura. Valet/coffee spilling/makes out under bar street lamps Laura and she’s looking at you with hungry eyes that you can’t even begin to process at this moment. Your already racing heart has fallen through your chest and landed heavily in your knotted stomach and you feel the overwhelming urge to just leave. But then there’s Danny, making introductions in a tone that you know means she is well aware that you two have met but while she talks about Laura a new realization hits you much too hard. Laura. Danny’s Laura. Danny’s Laura whom Danny cheated on with Lola. Laura, the Mad Scientist’s best friend Laura. You have been flirting with your best friend’s ex-girlfriend, and not just any ex-girlfriend but the one that turned overconfident, sometimes arrogant Xena into a blubbering couch jockey for weeks. 

You don’t care what you say, but you need to get out of here so you tell Danny you will be home later and practically sprint out of your apartment. As you’re making your way to the parking garage you are trying not to overthink what just occurred. Danny didn’t sound angry, she sounded happy, teasing even that you had met Laura and given her your nickname instead of your name. If Danny wasn’t upset then maybe Laura didn’t tell her you had been flirty, maybe Laura didn’t tell her anything at all because maybe it didn’t mean anything to her. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume after what happened outside of the bar the previous night. You couldn’t have known who Laura was, Danny moved in after they broke up and even though she insisted they were trying to be friends she had never had her over to the apartment or even shown you a picture of her. Until tonight that is. It takes, in your opinion, much too much effort to shift your focus from the full-fledged twilight zone in your apartment to the dinner that you now have to make sure you arrive on time to.

You are almost convinced that dinner with your siblings might be better than staying home and dealing with the Laura/Danny awkwardness until you pull up to the valet station at the restaurant and see Elliot and Mattie getting out of the car ahead of you. It's been 36 months since you first saw them together and even though all of those romantic, fluffy feelings you had for Elliot are gone, though not as romantic as you may have thought back then anyway, the sight of them together still pulls at something deep in the pit of your stomach. They at least had the decency to keep their relationship quiet for a few months after you officially ended things with Elliot, as if all of Styria didn't already know the reason for your split. Just over a year later when you had attended Will's birthday party and spotted the unnecessarily large diamond ring on Mattie's finger you felt it all over again. 

Since then you had been trying to avoid this feeling, which meant avoiding Mattie and Elliot and any mention of their engagement or impending wedding. You don't know if you were relieved or disappointed the first time they postponed the wedding. Maybe a bit of both but now it's just driving you up the wall. You want it to be over with but unfortunately, a wedding between the oldest daughter of Lilita Morgan and the only son and heir of her life-long rival Baron Vordenberg is not just about marriage. It's also a merger. This wasn’t a surprise to anyone, it was even discussed, although minimally when you had first started seeing Elliot. Two, wealthy, prominent, and opposing Styrian families joined in any manner was full of legal agreements, bickering, and disapproval.

It was no secret the Baron felt Mattie was just one of Mother's appendages, his feelings for Mother extending with prejudice onto Mattie. Elliot, to his defense, did try to do everything the right way, he had asked Klaus and Will for their blessing but only received approval from William. Klaus was never quick to forgiveness. Despite their better efforts, with business takeovers and prenuptial arrangements, their wedding date seemed to get farther and farther away. Consequently, you couldn't help the suspicion you felt when you got to the table and after giving Will a hug and the couple a curt nod you noticed they looked a little too happy to see you. Will had tried to make small talk at first after the food had arrived, but your desire to have a passionate conversation about the weather was short lived. 

"Can we just get to the point of this evening already, I can tell it's going to be painful so better to rip the band-aid off now so this uncomfortable family meal can be over," you say, leaning back in your seat and examining your fingernails to relay your disinterest. You try to hold your grin when you see the surprise on their faces, well except for William who seems less surprised and more disappointed. Mattie’s look of surprise quickly turns to a scowl but before she can speak Elliot interrupts. “We’ve, uh, set a date. For the wedding” he says quietly, in a tone that makes him sound both proud and ashamed all at once. It doesn’t make you feel better. You steel your face to keep your features even and try not to grit your teeth.

“When?” You ask, as evenly as possible even though that tug in the pit of your stomach is threatening to swallow you whole. “April” Mattie replies, in a tone too close to Elliot’s for your comfort. April. 6 months from now. It has been so long but all of a sudden it feels too soon. “Matska and I were wondering, well hoping, that you would agree to be part of the wedding,” Elliot says, holding his hand up when you go to speak. “It would mean a lot to both of us, Mircalla, and I know with everything that happened it might be hard but we’re asking anyway.” He’s looking at Mattie, who is looking at you, and she looks much too vulnerable for your liking. It’s hard to keep hating your sister when every so often she decides to act like a human. You take a sip of your water, your mouth suddenly dries from the look in Mattie’s eyes. You almost spew all of it when she speaks again.

“I want you to be my maid of honor,” she says, all sense of vulnerability gone, more like a command than a request. “You what!?” you ask much too loudly, eyes around the room zeroing in on you, before lowering your voice “Why on earth would you want that, Mattie?” She rolls her eyes at you, obviously annoyed at your outburst. “Oh, I don’t know Mircalla, maybe because you’re my sister?” she says sarcastically. You can’t help but scoff. “Thanks for stating the obvious, Matska, but don’t you have a lackey much better suited for this kind of thing? Or did you need me to make you look good? Make everyone think we’re the happy, loving family you keep trying to make them think we are?” Your tone is cold, the anger boiling in your chest. You should have expected this, all Mattie cares about is how the world sees her, what they think and what an embarrassment it would be if her own sister wasn’t part of her wedding. 

“That’s not why she’s asking,” Elliot says, already sounding defeated. “I know you think we don’t care about you, Kitty, but that’s not true. You’re our family.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “You don’t get to call me that” you shoot back at him seethingly before relaxing back into your seat. “What about Klaus?” You ask challengingly. It would be so predictable of them to leave him out, for him to not fit into their perfect picture. “We were hoping you could help with that,” William says calmly, for a moment you had almost forgotten he was there. “You’re the only one he listens to if you asked him to go then he would.” You can’t help but shake your head, the ache already forming behind your eyes, tears waiting to be shed. “I’m not a messenger pigeon if you want him there then you ask him yourself. He’s your brother too, not that either of you acts like it.” You knew it was unfair as you said it but your emotions are running far too high. It wasn’t Mattie or William’s fault, Klaus wouldn’t let them visit, wouldn’t take their calls. 

“This was exactly what I expected of you Mircalla,” Mattie says, her voice back to the same clipped, stern tone she learned from Mother. “Always so selfish and uncaring.” You ball your hands into fists in your lap. “It must be rare for you to see that outside of your own reflection.” You shoot back through gritted teeth. You stand up, grabbing your jacket from the back of your seat. “Well, as absolutely heartwarming as this dinner has been, I have things to do and people I would much rather be with, elsewhere.” William is up and stopping you as you turn to walk away. “Kitty, please.” The look in his eyes is tugging at your heartstrings but you’re so full of anger and a pain that you can’t seem to get rid of. You lift your hand up and brush your thumb along his stubbly cheek. “I’ll see you later, Will” you whisper before shrugging out of his grasp and walking out of the restaurant. 

You’re waiting for the valet to bring your car when you instinctively reach for your wrist to play with your bracelet, only to feel just your bare wrist, the memory of your unsuccessful search from earlier in the day springing into your thoughts. Your car pulls up just in time and you scramble into it, barely uttering a thanks to the young man who handed you the keys. You’re holding the tears back until you’re driving up to the gallery, the lights out, the parking lot empty. You pull in behind the building and let go, all the emotions from the day springing from your eyes and rolling down your cheeks. First Klaus, your missing bracelet, and then Danny and Laura followed by the disastrous dinner. You don’t know how much more you can take. You just let it consume you, the sobs wracking through your body, your shoulders shaking with the force of it all. 

It must’ve been about 20 minutes of heavy weeping in the parking lot before you just want to get home, curl up in your own bed, and sketch until your fingers ache. Usually, you would head down to your studio and turn all of these feelings into paint on canvas but you think you may even be too tired to hold your pencil. You pull out of the parking lot and head home, getting caught at the first light as it turns red. You think of a game you used to play with your siblings when you were children in the large yard behind your parents’ house.

_Red light!” Mattie yells, and you come screeching to halt, William doing the same right in front of you. “Green light!” She yells, and you’re off again, picking up speed and dashing around shrubbery and lawn ornaments to get to the invisible finish line. Will is already getting faster than you at 7 years old but you’re determined to win this time, you make it just a step ahead of him before Mattie calls out again. “Red light!” In your attempts to stop you trip over your own feet, shooting face first down into the grass below you._

_Before you’ve even fully hit the ground, two arms are wrapping around you and lifting you up. “I said red light, Kitty Cat, not face plant,” Mattie says teasingly before tickling you under your ribs. You’re laughing and struggling to get free of your older sisters grip and she’s laughing at your efforts. “Matska!” Your mother’s voice causes you both to stand up straight, fear coursing through you at her tone. “How many times do I have to tell you that you are much too old for these silly little games? Leave Mircalla and William to play and come inside to study.”_

_She is standing at the back door of the house, her toe already tapping impatiently. “Yes, Maman,” Mattie responds quietly, giving you one more gentle poke to the side before making her way into the house. As Mattie passes Mother in the doorway, your Mother turns back to you again “Mircalla, try not to cover yourself completely in dirt today.” She says sternly and then turns back into the house and loudly shuts the door._

You shake yourself out of it right as the light turns green and before you know it you are pulling into the entrance of your building. Only you don’t see the short brunette walking in front of the entrance until you are screeching to a stop, for the second time today, just inches away from her. Her head snaps up, surprise evident on her face. You can see the wires from earphones hanging from her ears, kind of like the way her mouth is hanging open. You absolutely hate to admit it but you would know that expression anywhere. Of course. Laura.


	10. Laura: The Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Mircalla actually have a conversation!? Warning: rampant awkward flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little context, for the purposes of this fic Styria is located in British Columbia, don't think I've ever mentioned that before. Also, just for future reference, I was never very good at Geography. Gonna try to keep this posting momentum going but as usual, no promises. Feedback is super welcomed.

Chapter Ten: Laura

The Inquisition 

Your life is flashing before your eyes. You didn't even see the headlights coming until the car was almost touching your side. There is no air in your lungs, you know this because you're not _actually_ dead and after about a minute of standing there like a deer caught in headlights you finally take in a huge, gasping breath, mouth still hanging agape. The car that almost ended your life is an all-black Mustang, vintage for sure (What? Your dad has a thing for cars, you couldn’t help but pick up a few things) but well taken care of. You're trying to see the driver through the tinted windshield when all of a sudden the door swings open and someone flies out, darting around the outside of the car towards you. You think you have whiplash from the speed she gets to you, pulling out your earbuds and grabbing you by the shoulders to look you in the eyes. It had to be the one person you were trying so hard to avoid tonight, you had to walk right in front of her car.

"Laura, hey. I am so, so sorry. Are you okay, did I hurt you?" Her voice is panicked, but it till seems to calm you right away. Finally, your eyes focus on her face, eyes rimmed red, makeup down her cheeks. You know you haven't responded yet but you can't help looking her over. She's still in the same mouth-watering dress that she left in but her shoes are gone, the thought passes through your mind that this is the second time you've encountered her barefoot. You’re actually overwhelmed with how undeniably sad she looks, even through all of the panic. You can't help but look back into her eyes worriedly. “Are _you_ okay?” You whisper. You instantly know that was the wrong thing to say because your shoulders feel a rush of cold as she moves her hands off you quickly, rubbing her palms down the front of her thighs. “Laura, I almost killed you, or at the very least seriously injured you, just now and you’re asking me if _I’m_ okay,” she says incredulously. “Are we sure I didn’t actually hit you with my car?” 

She runs a frustrated hand through her dark brown hair and you know it's not the most appropriate time but damn it if she isn’t beautiful. You’re amazed that even visibly disheveled she is blindingly radiant. You’re chewing on your bottom lip and you guess you’ve been quiet for too long because she looks even more concerned, her brows knitting together, and you just want to reach up and smooth down the wrinkles between them. “You didn’t hit me, I’m good. I’m okay,” you say as you shake yourself out of whatever that was. You can tell she doesn’t believe you so to prove it to her you zip up your sweater a little higher and shove your hands in your pockets, walking around a bit in a semi-circle around her. “See, fully functioning, just as uncoordinated and embarrassing as ever. I should head home now. It’s late and you probably want to get inside…” you’re starting to walk away when her hand snaps out from her hair to grab your upper arm, holding you still with ease. Her touch almost burns, but in the best way.

“Nuh uh, nope.” She sees the surprise in your eyes and lets go of your arm again. “I mean, it’s late and dark and you almost got hit once tonight. It would be irresponsible of me to let you walk home alone.” She seems to be looking anywhere but at you as she confidently says “You should let me drive you home, at least.” You have to admit, that was not what you expected her to say, but then again this entire day has been pretty unexpected. “No, it's fine really,” you say quickly, the thought of being alone with her is causing your heart to race and you can't tell if it's good or bad. “You look like… I mean like you said it's late and it seems like you had a long day and I really am okay, I don’t live far away…” while you’re rambling she takes a look at her reflection in the driver's side mirror. She flinches visibly and rubs her hands under her eyes in a poor attempt to wipe off some of the streaked makeup. 

“No excuses,” she says finally interrupting your ramble, “I’m going to run upstairs and get out of this dress and then I’m going to drive you home.” She says it with such a finality that you find yourself just nodding along. “Good,” she says, giving you a small smile that quickly fades into something that looks entirely too much like a blush. “Uh do you want to come back up or…” you shake your head vigorously. “I think if I went up Danny wouldn’t let me leave,” you say, “can I just wait in the car?” “Yeah, definitely,” she responds quickly, moving toward the passenger side and opening the door for you. “I’ll just park and you can hang out in here,” she says as you climb into the car. In what feels like the blink of an eye she’s back behind the wheel and pulling into a parking spot before darting back out of the car, the keys swinging from a ribbon on her wrist. Does she think you're going to steal her car? “I’ll be right back,” she says through the open window, “don’t move,” and then she’s practically sprinting into the building.

This is your opportunity to leave. You consider it for barely a moment before you are distracted by the two, very small, fuzzy dice hanging from her rear-view mirror. There is something about this woman that ignites your curiosity with a fervor you haven’t felt in years. It's not unlike the feeling you get when researching for a big story. You know so little about her but at the same time feel like you will never know enough, she could transplant you right inside her head and you would still want more. It's such an intimate thought to you that you are actually reaching for the door handle when she gets back into the car. She must have some kind of superhuman speed to have pulled that off, you swear she left you only moments ago. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail now, her face freshly washed, and she traded the dress for a pair of ripped gray jeans and an old Zeta Omega Mu hoodie, which does nothing but pique your curiosity even more. She does not seem the frat-bunny type, or at least you hope she isn't for your own selfish reasons. She actually looks relieved to see you're still sitting in her car and you would query that more if you weren’t distracted by how hot she looked in that oversized sweater. 

She gives you a small smile and quirks up her eyebrow, making you realize that you’ve just been silently staring at her so you make yourself say something, anything. “Who even are you?” You ask and instantly regret it, your mouth clamping shut, eyes wide. That was _not_ what you meant to say. She chuckles and rolls her eyes, a light blush on her cheeks. “One thing at a time, Cupcake,” she says “first, where do you live?” She’s buckled in and looking at you straight on, waiting for a response. “Oh right. I’m about two blocks northeast of that coffee shop where I ran into you and your coffee…” “Yeah, I know the one,” she cuts off your rambling, shaking her head as she pulls out of the parking lot and onto the street. You sit in silence, watching the easy way in which she smoothly shifts gears, listening to the purr of the engine on the empty road. 

“So…” you say, and she quirks a brow in your direction, almost as if she is gesturing for you to continue. “Mira, huh, is that your full name or is it short for something like Miranda?” Her brows furrow and she huffs out a breath. “Really, Buttercup?” She sighs. You roll your eyes before replying. “Yes, _really_ and my name is Laura, not buttercup or cupcake or fruit tart. And your actual name is?” She chuckles again before responding. “I know your name, _Laura_ ,” the way she says your name sends a chill right down your spine. "You really don't know what my name is?" You shake your head vigorously, "I was convinced until a few hours ago that your name was actually Kitty," you reply honestly. She sighs again, this time a little more lightheartedly, “I’m only going to tell you because I can see you’re not going to drop this anytime soon.” She says, glancing at you quickly before directing her eyes back to the road. “Mira is short for Mircalla, as in Mircalla Karnstein.” Your brain is working in overdrive trying to piece together this information, everyone in Styria knows the Karnsteins. They’re practically royalty, and although the name Mircalla registers, you can't say you've ever even seen photos of her before. You don't know how you didn't see it, maybe because the tabloid drama was never your scene but one thing is sticking out in your mind. The sweater actually makes sense now.

“Wait, you’re Will’s sister?” Her head snaps towards you, obviously surprised at your reaction. “How do you know William?” She asks skeptically. You shrug. Of course, she calls him William. “We had a few classes together at Silas, and he’s close with one of my best friends, Kirsch.” You didn’t think it was possible for her to look more confused than before but she’s actually staring at you in bewilderment. You can't tell if it's because she doesn't know who Kirsch is or if it's because she does know who he is and is wondering why you're friends with him. Either one is understandable. You nudge her so that she returns her attention back to driving the car before you continue. “He talks about you a lot, y’know. Will, not Kirsch obviously. Don’t take this the wrong way but you’re different then he made you seem.” She’s quirking her eyebrow at you again and you’re starting to fumble over your words. “I mean not in a bad way, just like, you’re broodier and hotter… I mean just not what he described.” _Shit_. She’s chuckling at you again and you can feel your cheeks redden.

She has this look in her eyes that is making your skin tingle and your mind race. Come _on_ , Hollis, it's not like you don't have game, why is this woman turning you back into a shy teenager? "You're twins right?" You blurt, _smooth_ Hollis, _very smooth_. She chuckles again. "Yes, but I'm older by 2 minutes," she sends a wink your way and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You look out the window just in time to notice you are pulling up to your apartment building. "It's this one right?" She asks, angling her head toward the building. You nod and she pulls up to the front. Suddenly you don't want to get out of the car, you want to keep talking to her, this less than 10-minute drive is turning out to be the highlight of your whole day. Before you can stop yourself, the words seem to just fall out of your mouth. "Would you want to come up for coffee or something, I mean you drove me all the way here when you didn’t have to. And I know how it sounds I just mean you're nice to talk to and I get if you just want to go home mphm..." Mircalla holds her hand over your mouth, you hadn't even realized you were rambling again.

"Can I just park wherever?" She asks in response, her brows raised and you nod, her hand still covering your mouth. She seems to notice that you've noticed and so she pulls her hand away and focuses on finding a parking spot. Oh god, you just invited a woman you've interacted with a grand number of 3 times up to your apartment and it's _not_ for sex. You need a drink, sober Laura Hollis has no charm. You're so lost in your own thoughts that you don't notice she's parked the car until she's getting out and coming around to open your door. "After you," she says quietly, gesturing outside. You know you're blushing when you respond with a quiet, "Uh, thanks." Trying your hardest not to stumble or trip getting out of the car. You lead the way into your building, noticing that she follows you a little hesitantly, always a step or two behind. You hit the elevator button and watch Mircalla take in the lobby. She seems impressed, you definitely were the first time you came to see this place but it surprises you a little that someone like Mircalla Karnstein would be impressed. It reminds you of something you wanted to ask her.

"No offense but why do you live with Danny?" She turns and raises that now infamous eyebrow at you while you backtrack. You _really_ need to work on this blurting thing. "I mean not that Danny isn't good to live with and not to pry, it's just that I didn't think you would need a roommate." You're looking down at your feet now but you hear the elevator ding and so you walk into it, hoping Mircalla follows despite your innate ability to fit your entire foot inside of your mouth. Thankfully, she does follow, and you hit the button for your floor. She still hasn’t said anything so you start to apologize instead. "That was rude of me, I'm sorry, not my business." She shakes her head a little and looks at you before she replies. "I like the company," she says, "I don't have a lot of friends and so having a roommate helps me not become some weird, antisocial hermit." You nod your understanding, your eyes still glued to hers like they're magnets. "Plus, I liked the place and didn’t have enough stuff to fill the second room." Her lips pull into a small smirk and your brain has to remind your lungs to do their job and _breathe_.

The doors ring again, signaling you've made it to your floor, and she moves forward and holds her arm in front of the door, allowing you to step out first. You can't tell if you like this chivalrous side of her. It reminds you a little of how Danny was, always doing things _for_ you even when you didn't want or need her to. How she always acted like she needed to protect you, like you couldn't take care of yourself. But Mircalla isn't Danny, you remind yourself, and also you're not dating her. She's just a kind person you keep crossing paths with, and who almost hit you with her car, that you invited up to your apartment. Nothing weird about that. God, Hollis, you need help. It takes you a couple minutes longer than it usually does to get your door unlocked because Mircalla has decided to lean against the wall beside you and you can feel her eyes on you, watching you intently. You finally get the door open and you gesture her inside in order to attempt to regain at least some control over yourself. 

You follow her in, only after your breathing finally evens out, and you watch her eyes dart around your sparsely decorated apartment. "Nice place," she says genuinely while awkwardly leaning against the kitchen island, one hand combing through the dark curls of her ponytail. You can't help but notice how often and how adorably shy she seems when she does this. No. Stop it, Laura. You know you're starting to stare again so you motion over toward the living room. "Make yourself comfortable, we've got tea, coffee, hot cocoa. I can even throw in a shot of baileys if you want." Eyebrows rise again but before you can ramble she's already speaking. "Cocoa sounds great actually, and a shot of Bailey's wouldn’t hurt," she's smirking at you and _shit_ , what were you doing? Right. "Coming right up!" You say at a higher pitch than you were intending, darting off into the kitchen so that she doesn't see your reddening cheeks. Seriously, get yourself together. 

You're walking back into the living room with a mug in each hand when you see her sitting on the sofa, feet crossed and tucked under her legs. She's looking intently at the first article you wrote for The Press, it was just a small filler piece but your dad insisted on having it framed and out of embarrassment you had yet to find a place to hang it. She's looking up at you by the time you've reached her side of the sofa and she takes your TARDIS mug from you with a hushed "thanks" and you're trying to hide a smirk. Her gaze returns to the frame and you sit on the opposite side of the sofa to her, in a spot that you hope isn't too close but also doesn’t look like you're trying to sit away from her. You're worrying about the awkwardness of love seat sofas when she finally speaks. "So you're a journalist? Should've guessed that one," she says her voice teasing. You take a sip of your cocoa, nodding when she twists around to look at you. "Is that what you went to school for?" She asks, a genuine curiosity in her eyes. 

You blink, you've never really gotten that question from anyone under 40 years old before. "Uh, no. I actually got a BBA, but I minored in journalism after I took it as an elective in my first year and kind of fell in love with it." There goes that eyebrow again and you have to take another sip of your cocoa just to do something with your hands. The move to journalism was a big one for you and it didn't come easy, your dad didn't want you to switch majors and you knew it was because he wanted you to have it as a backup in case journalism didn't work out, even if he never said those exact words to you out loud. Mircalla gives you a small smile. "It suits you," she says before asking "are you from Styria?" You had originally planned to learn more about her but she seems genuinely interested, so you answer one of your least favourite questions.

"No, I'm actually from Ontario, that's where I grew up. My dad still lives there, in Toronto. I moved here to go to Silas and just ended up staying." You're tapping your fingers against your mug hoping she doesn’t ask you the follow-up question that you are dreading. "I like Toronto," she says smiling, you let out the breath you were trying not to hold when she continues, "my mother used to do business there a lot. It's quite a big city, what would possess you to come all the way out here to a school like Silas?" _Damn_. You would usually try and brush this question off, say something like you wanted the small town experience or wanted to adventure around the West Coast but the way her head is tilted slightly towards you and the look in her eyes has you answering honestly for the first time in a while. "My mom is from here, she went to Silas. I never knew her growing up, she left when I was very little, so I guess I hoped being in the one place I knew she had been would help me find out more about her or even feel closer to her in some way." 

You look down into your mug. "And did you?" You head shoots up in surprise, not expecting her to ask. The look on your face must be alarming because her brow furrows a bit. "You don't have to answer that," she says quickly, "sorry." It looks as if she's trying to do anything but look you in the eyes so you place your hand gently on her knee causing her to finally look at you. You shake your head. "It's okay, but no, I didn't. I know just as much about her now as I did then which is really very little. But I like it here." You're looking at each other and you're actively trying to keep your heart from racing at the look in her eyes. You realize your hand is still on her knee so you pull it back, watching as her eyes move from where your hand was on her knee to where it now rests on your lap. "What about you?" You ask, taking another sip of your cocoa. 

She's looking at you incredulously and you have to roll your eyes. "I mean I know you're from Styria but Silas isn't a big school so I think I would've seen you around campus and I assume you work at the gallery since I saw you there last night but I don't know what you actually do there." Her eyebrow is still raised, you sigh. "I don't read tabloid gossip, Mircalla, I like to get my information from the source." She smiles a little at that before settling to look at you. "Well," she says, "I went to McGill for Biochemistry." It's your turn to look surprised, come on, Biochemistry? You worry you may have uttered that thought aloud when she chuckles a little before continuing. "Parental influence, y'know, and I also just happen to love Quebec." She smiles again at your look of disbelief. "After I graduated I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to go the standard medical route but I also didn't want to work in a lab. Art's always been a hobby of mine so when I moved back to Styria I just applied part time at the gallery and I've been there ever since. I'm like the unofficial assistant to the curator." You have to laugh a little after that, picturing a broody Mircalla taking orders from perfectionist Perry. 

"We're the poster children for useless degrees aren't we," you say, laughing again. She laughs along with you. "Looks that way." You may not know much about Mircalla but you do know enough not to ask why she came back to Styria. You were in your fourth and final year at Silas when Dean Morgan passed away. You had witnessed Will's grief first hand, and from personal experience knew that losing a parent wasn't number one on the list of things you wanted to come up in casual conversation. You're trying to figure out what kind of art she likes, even though you've figured that by now everything about this woman is going to surprise you. "So you paint?" You ask in what you hope is a casual tone. She's silent for a moment before she answers. "No, I just sketch sometimes, nothing serious." Her tone turns solemn so you quickly change the subject, not wanting to break the friendly tone you've just achieved. The two of you chat about traveling and siblings, she laments about having them when you admit to being an only child, and you get lost in how easy it is to talk to her despite the fact that in all reality you've only just met.

You're broken out of your reverie by a slight jingle and you both seem to realize at the same time it's coming from Mircalla's pocket. She gives you an apologetic look and gets up to answer the phone, walking out into the hall. You glance up at the clock in your living room and are shocked to see it's already almost 2 am. _Crap_. You didn't realize you had been talking for so long. You actually have to go into the office tomorrow, well technically today, which means it's definitely going to be a long day. Mircalla comes back into the living room. "That was Danny," she says pointing to her phone. You roll your eyes. "You too?" She smiles. "She can be a little overbearing but I appreciate the concern." She says, then her smile falls a bit. " Well, thank you for the cocoa, I should probably be heading home. It's getting late and I've kept you up long enough." 

You shake you head. "No problem, I can get a little wrapped up when I'm talking to a beautiful woma..." Ooops. She's smirking again. "Uh are you sure you're okay to get home?" You ask hastily. She nods. "I'm grand, Cupcake," she says with a wink. You roll your eyes, walking with her to the door and opening it. A new tension settles around you both, standing in the doorway, looking anywhere but each other. Why is this so weird for you? "Get home safe, okay?" You finally say to the carpet. "I will," she says before she turns and starts to walk toward the elevator. She turns to give you a little wave and you're about to close the door when you hear her call back out to you, a smirk present in her voice. "Goodnight, Creampuff." Then the elevator doors are closing and you're still standing in your open doorway. "Goodnight, Mircalla," you say to the empty hallway before closing your door, suddenly feeling the weight of your exhaustion for the first time that night.

For the first time since leaving Danny's you pull out your phone, a few messages from Danny and LaF popping up on the screen. After assuring both of them that you are safe and sound at home, _alone_ , you double check all of your alarms, hoping that you'll be able to make the most out of the 5 hours or less of sleep you'll manage tonight. With heavy limbs you slip into a large t-shirt and put your earbuds in, turning on your bedtime playlist. You slide under the covers of your bed, settling in until you're finally comfortable. The soft blue-ish light from the early morning is peeking through your blinds a bit but it is nothing compared to the weight of your drooping eyelids. It's usually difficult for you to fall asleep on your own, your bed often feeling too large and cold, too empty, but not tonight. You fall asleep to soft music, your dreams occupied by dark curls, small smiles, and dark brown eyes.


	11. Carmilla: Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mircalla is conflicted and we meet Friend!Elsie. Also ANGST.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter 3 times all the way through and none of them were right so this is attempt number 4, better known as parts of the other 3 attempts lumped into one. Please tell me what you think! And thank you for sticking around despite the sporadic updates!
> 
> Someone said this story was like a telenovela and they were not wrong. If you thought this story couldn't get any more complicated, buckle up Creampuff. We're just getting started.

Chapter 11: Carmilla 

Ruin

_Her lips. You almost hit her with your car, your favourite car, but you can’t stop looking at her lips. What is wrong with you? You're both just standing there in silence and she's got her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and you are so confused by her. So confused and so dumb because you just offered her a ride and she's looking at you like you're crazy and realise you must look like a complete mess so you take a look at yourself in your side mirror. Yes. Definitely crazy. You look like actual hell and you can't help but flinch away from your own reflection and try hopelessly to rub the tear tracks off your cheeks. You can tell she's trying to let you down gently but there's this fire in her eyes that you can't seem to let go of just yet. You can be pretty convincing when you want to be but there's just something about her that's telling you your usual charm isn’t going to work on Laura. By some miracle she agrees to let you drive her home._

_You burst through your unlocked door and barely catch sight of Xena and Wilson jumping apart on the sofa as you fly into your room. If this were any other night you would taunt them until the end of time but tonight there is someone sitting in your car and you have the feeling she might make a run for it if you aren't quick. You practically tear the dress off of yourself, grabbing the first available clothing items from your ground zero of a bedroom and run a makeup wipe over your smudged face before you’re back out in the apartment searching for shoes. "Uh Mira, what are you doing?" Danny asks from the couch. Shit. Do you tell her the truth or do you lie? You're technically not doing anything wrong but you find yourself lying anyway. "Just have to pop out real quick, I'll be back soon." You say hastily while you slip into your shoes. You're throwing your hair up in a ponytail as you leave the apartment and can't help but call back in before the door closes. "Use condoms!"_

_Laura is chatty, inquisitive, intelligent, adorable. You discover all of these things in the short drive from your building to hers. She seems to be this odd balance between confident and shy that has you unable to predict her reactions. She invites you up to her apartment and you can't lie, your first thought is for sex, but she's rambling too much for that to be so. Her apartment is warm, like her, but also much too structured for her. You find out she's a journalist, you should have known, she got you talking about your family and your academic choices so easily, but you’re not threatened by her. She doesn’t make you feel like just another story. She flinches when you mention the gallery. She doesn't ask about your mother._

_You've never hated a ringtone more than the one you set for Elliot."We need to talk about dinner," he says and you press your phone tighter to your ear. "Not tonight," you reply, whispering so Laura can’t overhear. You hear him sigh into the phone. "If not tonight then when, Mircalla?" You hate how easily he gets under your skin, even now. "I don't know, hopefully never," you reply harshly. "You're not at your apartment, where are you?" He asks and you're actively trying to stay calm. "Goodnight, Elliot." You hang up and call Danny, she answers on the first ring and you tell her you're staying at Will's tonight. Laura is looking away from you when you enter the room but immediately her eyes are on you and you know you don't owe her an explanation but you give her one anyway. Or part of one at least._

_Her lips. You've just spent over an hour staring into those beautiful light brown eyes and all you can think about is her lips. The simple sound of her voice makes you feel warm all over. Everything about her is throwing you in circles and the way she licks her lips and scrunches her nose when you won't say her name makes your chest ache. You are so gay. So gay and so dumb because she's Danny's ex-girlfriend and so not your type but she just called you beautiful and you really want to kiss her. She's looking at you like she wants you to kiss her but then she's looking at the floor and all of the strength leaves your body. She's still standing in her doorway after you leave._

* * *

It has been a full week since you almost hit Laura with your car and then sat talking with her until two in the morning. You should've gone straight home afterwards, the emotional roller coaster of the previous 24 hours settling oddly in your chest, but you've never really been one to go with your gut. Isn't hindsight always 20/20? Instead, you had gone straight to the gallery and covered yourself and three canvases in paint. Every time you would set a fresh canvas on the easel a face would appear in a matter of moments. First Mattie's, then Mother's, and finally Laura's. You stared at each of them for what felt like an eternity before covering all three in splashes and smears of colour, the faces beneath becoming indistinguishable. You sat in front of them, the floors and your clothes just as messily splattered in quickly drying paint as the canvases, for what felt like hours until Lola came in and pulled you up off of the floor and into her office with an overwhelming look of alarm. 

You didn't mean to vent at her but the words just wouldn’t stop, every thought and feeling from the past evening spilling out of you like a tidal wave, tears welling in your eyes but never tumbling over. Lola soothed you, rubbing the part of your back not soaked in paint. It was only when you spoke of Laura that you noticed her demeanour change. She looked at you wide eyed as you told her about the hours long conversation, how you told her things that you never wanted to tell before. When you were done, Lola looked at you not with pity but with worry. She took a deep breath and looked at you head on. "There's something you need to know about Laura." 

Lola told you to go home to sleep, so you went home but you didn't sleep, you couldn’t. Especially not after you found the sticky note left for you by the one person you had been actively trying not to think about, her phone number scribbled at the bottom. Without even really thinking about it you had pulled a duffel bag out from beneath your bed and started to unceremoniously stuff it with whatever clothing you could get your hands on. After shooting off a quick text message you were back in your car and heading as far out of town as you knew how. 

You got to Elsie's by noon that Thursday and had been holed up in the apartment above her bar for seven days, only leaving once to get groceries after discovering Elsie had started some new diet that lacked all of the comfort food you craved. You're seated cross legged against her headboard, sketchbook in hand and in the same pair of sweatpants you’ve worn for the past two days when she enters from the bathroom, wrapped in a pink bathrobe, her hair dripping onto her shoulders. She passes by you and you wouldn’t have even noticed if she didn’t slap your leg on her way by. “It’s Danny again,” she says, pointing to your illuminated phone on the bedside table. You haven’t taken it off silent since before you arrived but it seemed as if Elsie had a sixth sense to know when someone was calling you. 

“I’ll call her back later,” you reply, barely lifting your eyes up off of the paper in front of you, continuing to sketch. You’ve just finished shading the spot beneath Elsie’s window when your sketchbook is plucked from your hands. You look up in shock to see Elsie clad in only a bra and a pair of high-waisted acid washed jeans, shutting your sketchbook and holding it behind her back. "You said that yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. She's your roommate, Kitty, she's allowed to be concerned when you disappear for days." She's pointing to your phone as she says it, as if to confirm that she is in fact ransoming your sketchbook until you call Danny back. You know she's right. Danny is your family too and you were going to have to call her back eventually. You relent easily, sighing as you reach over to grab your phone from the nightstand. Elsie waits for you to start dialling before she gives you a quick smile and goes back to getting dressed. Considering she had just called you the wait until Xena picks is up longer than you expected but it also gives you time to brace for impact. 

"You better have a fucking fantastic explanation as to why you vanished into thin air, Mircalla," she says in place of a greeting. You sigh. "Hello to you too, roommate," you hear her huff in response and so you decide now is not the time to stoke the flames of the fire that is evidently already fiercely burning. "I just needed to get away, I should've explained everything when it happened. I'm sorry, really sorry." You hear her sigh into the phone. "Are you ok? Where are you?" She asks in a softer tone. "I'm fine and I've been staying at Elsie's," you say, bracing for the judgement. "Mira..." She starts just as a now fully dressed Elsie grabs your phone out of your hand. You flop onto your side as Elsie walks around the room with the phone pressed against her ear leaving you with only one side of the conversation. "Hi Lawrence...She's ok...Nope, I wouldn't have served her a drink even if she had asked, and she hasn’t... Sure thing, pleasure as always." She thrusts the phone back into your hands and skips out of the room. 

"Happy now?" You ask, not bothering to hide your annoyance at being treated like a disobedient child. "Honestly, no. I'm still worried about you," Danny says and your annoyance abates a little at the emotion you hear in her voice. "What happened that was so bad that you had to escape to Elsie's of all places? Don't you think a bar is the last place you should go when you're upset?" You know Danny well enough by this point to realise that what she really means to ask is why you didn't go to her instead. Xena has a bit of a saviour complex. "I'll be home in a couple of days," you tell her softly, "we'll talk more then, I promise." Danny seems to accept that and lets you go after informing you that Will stopped by your apartment a few days ago. Another name on the list of people you should have called already. 

You're setting your phone back on the nightstand when Elsie enters the room again, you sketchbook tucked under her arm and a steaming mug in each hand. She hands you a white mug with the grumpy cat printed on it, your mug, and then gives you back your sketchbook. You and Elsie take sips of coffee trying to avoid the inevitable conversation floating above you. She speaks first. "You know I love having you here..." "Here we go." You sigh, cutting her off. She rolls her eyes and gives your upper arm a soft punch. "Shut up and listen," she says firmly. "As flattered as I am that you chose to come here and spend time with little old me, you can’t hide forever. This isn't me kicking you out, okay, but we both know you have to go home sooner or later." She had walked around to the other side of the bed as she was talking, moving to sit beside you. 

"This isn't your life, Mircalla, you have the gallery and your friends and your family." You turn to face her. "What if I don't like my life?" You ask quietly. "Then you change it," she responds confidently, "you did it before when you created Carmilla and you can do it again." She slaps your thigh and rises from the bed. "I have to go open the bar, see you at dinner?" She asks, smiling at you. You nod and give her your closest attempt at a smile before she turns and walks out of the room. She made it sound so easy to just change the things you didn't like but you know it's not that simple. In a perfect world you would be Carmilla all the time, openly painting and not afraid of prejudice. In a perfect world you wouldn't have to deal with sibling expectations, the very literal ghosts from your past, you would be able to form relationships based on trust and shared interests. You would not have to be avoiding Laura. There she was again, Laura. You didn’t even know the woman but that's just how your brain works. Once you realised you could never have her she became all you could think about. Or maybe that happened before. 

It was bad enough that she worked for The Press. Out of all the news outlets in Styria she worked at the only one owned by Elliot and his narcissist father, without the fact that she was getting her big break by attempting to discover Carmilla's identity. Your identity. You're not sure your life could get any more complicated if you tried. You hadn't told Elsie about Laura. Not because you and Elsie used to sleep together, although that would be a good reason even if it was years ago, but because you know what she would tell you to do. Elsie was a strong believer in doing whatever you wanted to do, consequences be damned. Her only exception would be if you fell off the wagon and started drinking again, she knows from experience that those consequences are a little harder to disregard. You were tempted, when Lola first told you, to just risk it all. Not to drink but to see where things went with Laura and if she knew then she knew but doubt settled in almost immediately and had been festering in the pit of your stomach for days. 

What if she was interested in you because she suspected you were Carmilla, or even worse what if she somehow knew you were Carmilla and was just feigning interest in you to improve her story? Laura didn't seem to be the kind of person who would do that but what did you know? It's not like trusting people has done you too much good, with the exception of Elsie, Danny, and Lola of course. You've had a conversation and half with Laura, it would be jumping the gun a little to risk spilling all of your secrets, right? You were developing a headache at this point. You look down at your sketchbook, the pencil still between your fingers but all of your motivation gone. Sighing you reach back over for your phone. Might as well get things done. 

"Hello!" Lola answers on the first ring, her voice shrill, the sound of scrubbing audible in the background. You can't help but chuckle inwardly before responding. "Hey, Red," you say sheepishly. To your credit, you did tell Lola you would be away and because of your conversation, and the fact that you left 4 finished pieces behind, she hadn't really fought you on it but that was a few days ago and she was sounding pretty frazzled now. "Mircalla?" She asks as the scrubbing stops. "Is everything ok? Do you need something?" Leave it to Lola to sound stressed out of her mind and ask if you're ok. You sigh. "Why is everyone always asking if I'm ok? I'm fine, I just called to check in, and to see how things were going." You're trying to sound annoyed but you can’t help the small swell in your chest. You really do have people who care for you. 

"Oh," she squeaks as the sound of scrubbing begins to echo behind her, "yes, everything is fine. The gallery is fine, all normal. Very normal." She's lying. "You're lying," you blurt immediately. You know she's lying because even though she has the tendency to be a little "shrieky" she had just reached a pitch you're sure only dogs could hear. That and the scrubbing. "Well,"she draws it out, clearly hesitating, "so, you know those three pieces you painted the other night? I thought I'd make them a series, right because they're so similar and they work together, I figured you wouldn't mind and well we got a few offers on them..." She pauses and you're thinking that you can't imagine why selling a few of your paintings would cause such a fuss until she continues. 

"The highest offer was from your parent's estate..." "No," you didn't even think, just blurted out the first thing that popped into your head and you know that she heard you but she continues on anyway. "Your sister came by, looking for you and she, uh, said, very nicely by the way, that she would do some particularly violent things if you didn't contact her soon." You're up and pacing the room now, holding your phone with one hand and running the other through your hair roughly. You sigh into the phone. "That's not all," Lola says quietly, "Laura has been hanging around, I think she noticed you were gone. Danny and I have been covering but she's pretty stubborn." So much for running, you should've known better than to try hiding from Mattie, the last thing you wanted was for her to start bothering Lola. You choose to ignore the statement about Laura altogether. 

"I'm coming back tonight," you say, making the decision to do so right as you say it. "You don't have to do that," Lola says quickly, "it isn't anything I can't handle." You roll your eyes, vigorous scrubbing still audible in the background. "It isn't about whether you can or can't handle it, Lola, it's about whether or not you should. It's not your job to deal with my familial problems," you say, already packing your bag. It's Lola’s turn to sigh. “Just, please drive safely, ok? It's just a very long drive and the sun is setting earlier and earlier these days...Maybe even consider coming back in the morning?" She asks worriedly. "I'll think about it," you reply, "see you tomorrow, Red." You hang up, tossing your phone onto the bed behind you as you finish packing up the few things you brought with you. You're almost finished packing when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. 

Your need for a shower is glaringly obvious so you grab a few clean items of clothing from the top of your bag, Elsie still did your laundry yesterday despite your protests, and practically skip into the bathroom. Elsie had renovated this entire building after she bought it, she had inherited a large sum of money a few years back, and her bathroom was one of your favourite rooms. The shower looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie, one wall covered in lights and buttons, with shower heads sprouting from every possible angle. She also has a Jacuzzi tub, but it's already almost 5 pm so you really don't have time to enjoy that right now. You turn all of the shower heads on and position them to point directly at you, setting the temperature as hot as you can stand, and then you step into the already steamy shower. 

* * *

_Smoke, all you can see is smoke but you can hear them. Screaming. It takes you a while to realise you're the one doing the screaming, your throat raw, your voice hoarse. "Papa! Maman! Mattie! Klaus! Will!" You call their names over and over again with no reply, pacing through cloudy darkness, searching for anyone. You fall to your knees in a sea of black and grey. You're outside now, the house completely engulfed in flames, windows shattering and burning beams falling. You are rooted to your spot in the tree line, you can only watch from afar as your childhood home begins to crumble in the blaze. Mattie and William emerge from the house, covered in ash and dirt, dragging a bloodied and unconscious Klaus together as far away from the house as they can manage. Your father is right behind them and you're releasing the breath you were holding when it hits you like a punch to the gut. You see him come to the same realisation as he frantically looks around the yard before sprinting back toward the house. "No!" You scream, stranded in place, unable to stop him from running back into the flames before the whole front of the house collapses. The screen goes black but you can still see them, you can still see them all._

You're curled up on the tiled shower floor, shaking and crying, the water pouring down around you. You're trying to breathe but there's no air until you hear Elliot's voice in your head, at first like a whisper and then like a scream. _There was nothing you could have done, Mircalla. You weren't there._ You weren't there.


End file.
